


The Lights Make Bodies Blurry

by heyshalina



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accidents, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Gen, Ghosts, Gun Violence, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Possession, Superpowers, Temporary Character Death, lots of victory takeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyshalina/pseuds/heyshalina
Summary: “You know, I think the Séance was a bad name for me, in retrospect.” Klaus bends his head to the side, and his neck lets out a loud crack in release. “They should have called me the Cockroach.”
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz
Comments: 67
Kudos: 709





	The Lights Make Bodies Blurry

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you just...shove every headcanon you have into one fic
> 
> This story takes place post-canon (ignoring how Ben goes into the light and also ignoring the 2020 emo version of him in the S2 finale) in a vague timeline. It's told in a sort of semi-linear fashion that's similar to the way the actual show works.
> 
> content warnings for gun violence, blood and gore consistent with canon, temporary character death, possession and the consent issues that go along with that, drug use, and car accidents.
> 
> title is from "Ghosts On The Dance Floor" by Blink-182.

**_“the muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited”_ **

**_– Stephen King_ **

.

Klaus remembers there being more crying, the last time. He can’t exactly say he misses it, but it’s weird. The silence. He’s not used to anything being quiet.

Except it’s not quiet, not really. It’s funny, he keeps forgetting. There’s the sound of a fist meeting flesh, a dull, kind of squishy _thud_ repeating over and over. The rhythm of it would be kind of meditative, actually, if not for the fact that he can still feel the echoes of pain with each point of contact. He forgets that he’s the one being hit until a particularly hard punch contacts with the cartilage of his nose, the pressure pushing in and creating a spectacular crunching sound. Then there’s the warmth of the blood running down his face, and all that – geez, what did he say this time to make this dude so angry? Klaus squints up at the ugly mug of the guy above him, face all contorted in anger. He’s shouting something that Klaus can’t really make out. Maybe he held out on him, or something. Changed his mind about giving him a blowjob out in the alley they’re in. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had looked cuter in the dim lights of the club, and less than stellar out in the light. Or maybe he’d called him something mean – Klaus draws the line at derogatory language on the first date. It simply isn’t becoming.

Ben is there, and that’s what’s weird, Klaus decides. Ben’s seen him go through all sorts of fucked up shit, especially in places like this, where the gross dumpster juice hasn’t been cleaned away and probably still remains, ingrained and sticky, even after a hard rain. One singular light high above them on the wall of a brick building. How do they even change those lights? They never come to clean the dumpster juice, but the light’s always on. Different departments, Klaus supposes. He scoffs. Micromanagement.

Last time something like this happened, Ben had cried. Which, honestly, Klaus thought would be weirder than the not crying, but the silence is freaking him out a little bit. He’d cried the first time, when Klaus was eighteen and overdosed for the first time, left behind by the people he’d been staying with after he finally ran away. He’d sat there, and cried, and tried to hold his hand, but it had passed right through. He’d cried the second and the third time, more of the same, and the fourth time too, same type of alley, different story. Before the tens of other times, before Klaus made friends with dangerous people and EMTs with shiny new toys. Ben had cried and screamed as Klaus’ old dealer had beaten his face in, much like now, having had decided a lesson would be better than all the money Klaus owed him.

Another distinct _thud_ brings Klaus back to the present, and he’s dropped unceremoniously by whoever had been holding him. His tongue gets caught between his teeth as he lands, already swollen and too big for his mouth. He spits, the globule of blood not getting any farther than the edge of his lips, and looks for Ben. He’s behind the beefcake, hands in his pockets and head cast down. He raises his head to meet Klaus’ eye, frowning. He looks sad and angry but he’s not crying, not saying anything at all. His jaw clenches visibly in a telltale sign of frustration that used to piss the fuck out of Klaus when they were pre-teens, and –

“You know what?” The guy above him bellows, face full of anguish and rage. Klaus wishes he could remember what day of the week it was. It feels like a Tuesday. “Fuck this. Fuck you!”

Beefcake unholsters a pistol from his hip and points it at Klaus’ chest, flicking off the safety. Klaus looks to Ben for a reaction, for any look of panic, but he finds nothing. And then, in a flash and a pesky bout of tinnitus, there’s truly nothing at all.

.

He opens his eyes and groans. rolling over onto his side. It’s even later (earlier?), the alleyway slick with leftover rain and perhaps even more dumpster juice. He’s soaking, and sore. Ben sits next to him, cross-legged with his chin cradled in the palm of his hand. He’s perfectly dry. Klaus scoffs.

“Did you know that you make the worst sidekick ever?” He announces, trying to hoist himself up on his elbow and failing. He looks down at his shirt, which is saturated with blood and god knows what else. He prods at the buttons, trying to expose his chest. Any trace of the flamingo pattern is long gone. He pouts, giving it a moment of silence before accepting the fact that he’ll need to burn it. He likes this shirt. “Like, the worst Robin a Batman could ever have. Or whatever.”

Ben doesn’t answer him, and Klaus groans out a long sound under his breath. At least the loser with the gun is long gone and not around to hear him whine. He _hates_ the silent treatment.

After a moment his searching fingers find what they’re looking for, his index knuckle grazing against the bloody pock to the right of his sternum. Definitely going to need a stitch or two. If he’s lucky, they’ll give him a month’s prescription for the good stuff. He smiles to himself, planning his weekend ahead, but Ben still hasn’t replied to him.

Klaus sighs. “Alright, fine. How long this time?”

Ben huffs out a short breath, which is entirely all for the dramatics. He doesn’t even _need_ a breath. “Twenty-eight minutes.”

“What are you sulking about then?” Klaus asks, letting his head thunk back against the pavement for a second before realizing it’s still slick and wet. “Fucking pavement doesn’t absorb fluid like it used to. Twenty-eight minutes? That’s nothing. Walk in the park. Biscuits and gravy.”

Ben doesn’t reply to him. He shifts his weight, turning even further away from Klaus, posture still folded into itself. Klaus rolls his eyes, the only part of his body he feels confident moving with gusto right then.

“What, you don’t want to hear about my road trip across America?” Klaus taunts. “The biggest ball of yarn, fried cheese curds? God says hi, by the way. Not that you care.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, doesn’t give anything away. His shoulders move a minute amount, climbing up toward his ears. Klaus groans again, prepared to annoy his brother until he gives him the time of day, but is distracted by the shine of ambulance lights cascading across the puddles lining the alleyway. Suddenly there are other voices, real voices, coming toward him, and the crackle of a walkie-talkie. Klaus closes his eyes for a brief moment to prepare himself. He knows this drill.

When he opens them, the paramedics are dropping the stretcher beside him, and Ben is gone.

.

“You know,” Allison muses, pulling her hair out from behind her ears. “One day dad’s going to see you waltzing around, wearing my clothes.”

Klaus peeks his head out of Allison’s closet, a floor-length skirt around his waist and torso bare. One of Allison’s long necklaces bounces against the skin of his chest, a shiny silver thing with a bird on the end of it. “And by then he’ll have lived a full and rich life. I’m sure when the shock kills him, it’ll be his time to go.”

Allison shoots him a look, but she’s laughing. “Don’t joke about that,” she chides, hiding her mouth with her hand. Klaus rolls his eyes and ducks back into the closet. They are thirteen and three months ago they’d broken apart from the others on a rare free night, like they usually do. Except this time, they’d snuck out of the mansion, hand clenched in trembling hand, and Allison rumored a taxi driver to drive them to the movie theater without having to pay. They’d sat together in the back of the theater, watching a movie in the cinema for the first time in their lives. Allison had been enraptured, eyes on the giant screen, while Klaus hadn’t been able to keep his eyes still. He’d looked from the actors to the attendants, to the teens in the front row and back again. They’d meant to come back to the mansion immediately afterwards, but Klaus had taken one look at them, still donned in their uniforms, and dragged them both to the nearest consignment shop. Allison had rumored the cashier there, too, because they didn’t have any money.

And thus, Allison and Klaus’ love of fashion had been born.

Obviously, she’s still guilty about it all, because Allison pulls her lips to the side, regarding herself in the mirror. “Maybe we should send them something, actually pay. Every time one of us wears the skirt, I get all twisted up inside.”

“Allison, sis, live a little,” Klaus waves a hand. He’s too busy looking at the hat they’d found on the side of the road the week before. It’s a flat wicker sunhat, with only one tiny hole in the back. He places it on his head, and then emerges to look in the mirror. “We’ve been over this. I would have done it if I could, spared you the grief. But all I could have done is told her that her dead ex didn’t blame her for the motorcycle accident.”

Allison pauses. “Is that true?”

“What?”

“You saw her ex-boyfriend in the store?”

Klaus frowns, but he shrugs it off. “Oh, yeah. I mean, hard to miss. The guy was still so in love with her, it was kind of nauseating.”

He had also been sobbing uncontrollably, half of his face scraped away in horrid road rash and a chest wound that wouldn’t stop leaking onto the carpet, but Klaus decides to keep that to himself.

Allison swoons, and Klaus swallows the lump in his throat. Just thinking about the ghosts always makes more show up, and now there’s a woman sitting at Allison’s desk, staring at him. There’s a dark ring of bruises around her neck, and her eyes seem to jut out of her skull.

“It’s just so romantic,”’ Allison twirls, taking the wicker hat off of Klaus’ head and putting it on her own. “Staying with someone, even after death. I hope one day someone loves me that much. It’s just like a fairy tale.”

Klaus tears his eyes away from the woman in the chair, tries to not think about how the man had cried and cried, begging the cashier to look at him. How when he discovered Klaus could see him, he began to threathen and scream. The ghost at the desk turns like she is looking at herself in the mirror, bringing her hand up to the line of bruises as though it was a necklace of pearls. Klaus turns, but sees nothing in the reflection.

“Yeah,” he says, not very convincingly. “Real romantic.”

“Oh, come on, Klaus,” Allison teases. “Don’t you ever daydream of a beautiful woman coming to sweep you off your feet?”

“If they could take me away from here?” Klaus lets out a sharp breath. “I think anyone would do.”

“I think you deserve higher aspirations than that,” Allison says. “You’re a member of the Umbrella Academy. You deserve the world.”

Klaus doesn’t quite agree.

“Well, we can’t all be princesses in high towers,” he croons, dipping deep into a bow. “Not all of us are Allison Hargreeves, destined to be on the silver screen and in family living rooms everywhere in God’s America.”

“And Great Britain,” Allison giggles.

“And Great Britain,” Klaus repeats, bringing a hand to his chest. “How could I forget?”

A bell rings from somewhere in the house, signaling the end of their free hour and the beginning of their afternoon training. Not even a full breath later, Luther’s voice rings throughout the halls, calling for everyone to gather. Allison and Klaus share a long look before shedding their clothes, pulling their uniforms back on over their skinny bodies. Luther calls for them again, and Klaus leaves the room with Allison, still pulling on his left shoe. Behind him, the ghost at the desk turns to look at him, and abruptly begins to scream. Klaus keeps moving. If he flinches, he does a good job of hiding it.

.

At some point after the whole Vanya-has-powers thing and the other whole he-can-make-ghosts-corporeal thing, everyone decides that maybe they should focus on honing in their abilities so they don’t accidentally blow up the world for the umpteenth time. Klaus feels a little blasé about it all, a bit too much _honor our late dear daddy_ for his tastes, but goes along with it because usually Diego will buy him a milkshake on the way home afterwards. Five spends most of the time scribbling down math on leftover cocktail napkins, insisting he can figure out his whole time travel business without killing another president. Diego’s _been_ training for years and is mostly there as moral support with the tact of an awkward little league baseball coach; Vanya flinches every time someone as much as taps a glass; and beyond being a big brute, Klaus isn’t even really sure what Luther even _does_. Allison, for her credit, pretty much refuses to rumor anyone anymore, and mostly moms at them from afar.

He’s managed to bring Ben back into the world of the moist and clammy a few times now, but it’s pretty hit or miss, and he never really sticks around for longer than a few minutes at a time. Usually, it’s just because Klaus gets tired, or bored, but today he’s just distracted.

“So is Ben just, like,” Allison tilts her head to the side, her arms crossed tightly across her body. “Not here today? Or something?”

Ben rolls his eyes, and Klaus feels his face twitch. The ghost that’s been yelling at him the loudest all day is still loitering outside the window, like he’s reluctant to come in without having been invited. It doesn’t stop him from screaming his head off, though, the sound a low and disturbing gurgle, what with his entire face and chest being bashed in and all. The leather jacket he’s wearing obviously did nothing to help him, and seeing it just bugs the hell out of him. Both Diego and Allison chose to wear leather today, and how many times does Klaus have to tell people that not everyone can pull it off like they think they can?

“Oh, he’s here,” Klaus drawls, looking from the ghost to Ben and back again. The ghost keeps pointing to a car (ghost car?) in the street, which looks more like a hunk of scrap metal than a functioning motor vehicle.

“ _Who did this_?” The ghost screams, moving to pound his bloody fists on the window. They pass right through. Not even a stain. “ _Who did this to me_?”

“I thought you said you were getting a better hang of your powers,” Vanya pitches softly, most likely to take the attention away from the fact she has yet to even move a pencil with her mind today.

“I am, I am,” Klaus waves a hand through the air. “Benny and I play patty-cake all the time. Gee, even last week we and a few buddies got down to a _nasty_ game of strip poker, it was a grand old time.”

Luther crinkles his nose. “So why can’t you bring him out now?”

“It’s nothing to do with him, really,” Klaus sighs. “Just a bit noisy in the neighborhood today, that’s all.”

“So, ghosts,” Diego sums up, and then looks around him like they’ll crawl on him with their ghostly, spider-like hands. “How many are there, exactly?”

“You know, I have a little bit of trouble wrapping my head around the whole _too many ghosts_ thing,” Five says, raising his head up from his napkin.

“It’s not so much that there’s that many,” Klaus shrugs. “It’s just, you know, they’re loud, and so, so ugly.”

Luther huffs out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we could be shallow about ghosts.”

“Luther, I can be shallow about anything.”

“How bad could it be?” Five scoffs, raising an eyebrow.

Klaus feels his lip twitch. He knows he’s goading him, and usually he blows right through it, but the ghost outside the window has switched from asking who murdered him to straight out accusing Klaus of the act himself. God, it’s annoying.

“Some things can’t be described, little bro. That’s the mystery of this journey we call life.”

Five lowers his pencil, leaning forward with a cruel look on his face. “Well, why don’t you conjure some up and _show me_.”

“ _You did it! You’re the one who did it, aren’t you, you bastard! I’ll kill you!_ ”

Klaus smiles and leans back in his chair. “No thanks. I’d rather not send you to Tiny Tot Therapy for Troubled Tikes. I walked by the other day, and they’re at full capacity.”

The hand that’s holding the pencil clenches tightly, releasing an audible creak as Five frowns. Allison straightens up from her position leaning against the bar.

“Alright, why don’t we all break for the day,” she offers. “It’s obvious that none of us are going to reach any breakthroughs right now. We can try again on Tuesday.”

“Goodie goodie,” Five mutters through clenched teeth.

Klaus hops up from his chair, clapping his hands together in front of him. “Great plan, everyone. Diego, milkshake time? Being in daddy dearest’s death home makes my stomach feel all sorts of wants.”

Diego rolls his eyes at him, a spitting image of Ben who does the same, but jerks his head toward the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Milkshakes?” Vanya asks, coming forward a half step. “Can I come?”

“Sure, sis!” Klaus opens his arms wide. “The more the merrier. Except, Luther, I don’t think you’ll fit in the car.”

“I don’t want a milkshake,” Luther grumbles. He _so_ wants a milkshake.

“Don’t be a dick,” Allison chastides him. “We’ll follow you in my car. We can all go. We’ll meet at Griddy’s.”

“Well, I’d love to extend this valuable family bonding, but I’ve got other things to do,” Five announces, standing from the stool. “You know, better uses of my time, and all that.”

“Come on, Five,” Diego shoots him a smirk. “It’s a milkshake, not a playdate at the mall. I’m sure your dignity will survive.”

Five stares at them all for minute, and then flattens his lips out in a straight line. “Fine,” he says, and then disappears in a flash of light. Klaus spots him out the window, already sitting in the front seat of Allison’s car. Little shit didn’t even call shotgun.

They all filter out of the mansion, Luther slamming the front doors shut behind them, while Klaus muses about whether or not they’ll have mint chip available as a flavor. The car wreck ghost reignites his screaming as they walk outside, coming right up to Klaus and demanding he pay for what he’d done to his car, and to his face. Klaus jerks his head to the side, trying to work out the screaming like a knot in his shoulder. When that doesn’t work, he rubs lightly at his temples.

“Can’t get a moment of peace and quiet around here,” he mutters under his breath.

“Does – will Ben want a milkshake?” Vanya asks. “Would that even work?”

“Well, even if he _wants_ a milkshake, that’s tough shit for him,” Klaus says. “I don’t think ghosts can eat. Even if he could, I wouldn’t get him one. He’s been a bad ghost bodyguard today.”

“I’m not your bodyguard,” Ben deadpans. “Make him go away yourself.”

“I can’t,” Klaus moans, ducking into the backseat of Diego’s car.

“ _I’m going to get justice!_ ” The ghost screams, the words both grating and kind of squishy. With every syllable, a burst of blood comes out from the ripped hole in his throat. It has to be uncomfortable, but he won’t fucking shut up. “ _You’ll fucking pay for what you did to me. My family. My face. My car!_ ”

“Me, me, me,” Klaus mutters, bringing a hand over his eyes. Vanya eyes him from the passenger seat but doesn’t say anything. Diego already knows better, starting up the car and pulling out of the driveway. The ghost stares after them, and then moves toward the street, movements broken and disjointed. Somehow, he climbs into the wreckage of his own ghost car. And somehow, he starts it up and starts following them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“He’s attached to the car, Klaus,” Ben says, ever the voice of reason. “Like how that ghost once was attached to the dollar bill that one time. You know, the girl?”

“Oh, I remember,” Klaus thunks his head back against the headrest. “Brought a whole new meaning to the phrase retail therapy. I got rid of every cent I had just to get rid of her.”

“You could have tried helping her,” Ben says.

“How? By buying her a new scarf? A pony? Not my fault she had some problem with Andrew Jackson – everyone does.”

“ _Klaus!_ ” The ghost screams, pulling up the spectral scrap heap alongside Diego’s car as they drive down the road. “ _You fix this, or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!_ ”

Something in Klaus snaps, and he opens the back window, pulling himself halfway out just so he can yell at this asshole. “Shut the fuck up, two-face! I can’t _fix_ anything. You’re dead! You’re fucking dead, dickhead!”

“Klaus,” Diego snaps. “Get back in the fucking car.”

“Klaus, come on.”

He can feel his hands begin to tremble. This fucker has kept him up all night and annoyed him all day. He is _not_ going to ruin his milkshake time.

“ _Klaus!_ ”

“Klaus, get inside. Now.”

“ _KLAUS_!”

Suddenly, his hands are glowing, his own personal light show. The ghost next to them glows faintly before shattering into the corporeal world in full blue aura, along with the entirety of his ghost car – just as he jerks the steering wheel and sends the car sideways to collide against them head-on.

Vanya screams, and Klaus is shot through the rest of the window like a bullet, first hitting the side of the still-solid ghost car before crashing to the pavement below and skidding like a broken record. He bounces a few times, a flat stone on a very painful lake, before coming to a stop. Diego’s car veers to the side, slowing slightly but still connecting with a telephone pole on the curb, the hood crumpling in on itself.

Time skips – a whole journey and meeting and breakdown lost and forgotten, cast to the wayside to remember later – and Klaus opens his eyes. He feels the bones in his chest, his arm, the side of his head slipping back into place, becoming something still painful but less terminal. He lets out a groan, as is his custom, propping himself up on one arm. The other is covered in road rash, and it stings as it comes in contact with the air. He’s ended up on the other side of the ghost car, which is still flickering in and out of existence, along with the ghost, who’s standing on the pavement and staring at Diego’s car. Instead of screaming, he’s just sobbing – harsh, horrible, grief-ridden breaths that make Klaus feel sorry for him, and that’s the worst part. He hates feeling sorry for them.

Allison’s car is stopped behind Diego’s, and Klaus can hear the roar of approaching sirens. Allison sees him and starts running toward him. Behind her, Luther is talking to Diego and Vanya – both standing, both okay. Diego’s holding one of his left knuckles with his right hand, a grimace on his face, and Vanya has a shallow cut along the ridge of her forehead. Diego breaks away from Luther to come toward Klaus, shock and concern blending in with the anger on his face.

“Klaus,” Allison gasps, coming down onto her knees. Her gaze keeps flicking between him and the crying ghost, like she can’t quite believe her eyes. Welcome to the club. “Klaus, are you alright?”

“Peachy,” He grumbles, sitting up a little straighter. Allison goes to ease him down to the ground, but he waves her hands away.

“Holy shit, dude,” Diego frowns. “You fucking shot through that window. I was sure you were dead.”

“Surprise,” Klaus does a one-handed jazz hand, looking at Ben, who’s standing behind Allison with his jaw clenched. Klaus stares at him in a silent question, and Ben gently shakes his head. “My arm does hurt like a bitch, though.”

Luther is staring at the sobbing ghost with his own ugly, scrunched up look of confusion and despair. “What the fuck just happened? Who the fuck is that?”

“I’m sorry,” Klaus mutters, and Allison puts a hand to the back of his head. “I uh, I lost my temper, and then I lost control, and –”

“It’s fine,” Allison says, and Diego nods. “It’s fine, everyone’s okay. You’re fine.”

“I gotta admit, you were right though,” Five says, leaning against Allison’s car as the light of the ghost flickers for the last time and disappears. “That was one ugly ghost.”

.

He’s doing pretty good, all things considered – sure, Five’s been gone for years, Ben’s dead as a doornail, and everyone hates each other, but other than that, life’s pretty okay. Klaus is freshly seventeen and is as high as a beautifully hand-stitched kite. A kite made with love and fine silks. He’d topped off the last of his edibles he had stolen away in his sock drawer, preparing for the weekend, where the real fun would begin. He’d been able to score two tabs of acid off of some guy named Donny for only ten bucks and a smooch on the lips – it was the deal of the century.

“Allison!” he cries, his sister walking into the room and breaking his reverie. Well, really, it was her room. He’s been laying on her bed, waiting for her, because they aren’t as _close_ as they used to be when they were kids and he misses her. Fuck, he just misses it. The entire room seems to sink around him with his mood, and – “Are you crying?”

“Why are you here, Klaus?” Allison asks, staring at the floor. Her arms are crossed, wrapped around herself like a death grip, and Klaus frowns. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

“Because –“ he gestures around them, to the mess of clothes scattered across the floor, to the half outfits put together and slung across chairs, to the halfway packed suitcase in the corner. “Because I just scored the deal of the century – of the millennia, even – and I wanted to tell somebody about it, I guess.”

“Why are you telling me?” Allison asks, and some little part of Klaus inside his chest turns to stone. And he’s sick of it, sick of more and more of him calcifying and flicking away with the wind. He hates feeling poetic, like he speaks a language no one else in the world can speak. At least, not in his family.

“Because,” Klaus says, like it’ll answer everything. “I thought. I thought maybe we could go out, like we used to. You know. Try on each other’s clothes, braid each other’s hair.”

“You mean try on _my_ clothes,” Allison grumbles. _“_ And go out, and leave me alone at the bar.”

“Hey,” Klaus sits up a little straighter. “Hey, hang on, that’s not fair.”

“But it’s true,” Allison spits. She sniffles, a lob of snot traveling back up her nasal cavity as she tries to stop crying. God, she should have stopped crying by now. “I don’t – you haven’t wanted to hang out with me since we were 13, Klaus. Why now?”

“That is not true,” Klaus says, or he thinks he says. Every word that comes out of him is dropping to the earth, and he feels heavy, like someone turned up the dial on gravity ten times stronger.

“It-it’s just not a good time right now,” Allison says, still stiff as a board. “Can you leave?”

“What – what happened? You can tell me –”

“I don’t _want_ to tell you,” Allison looks up at him, fire in her eyes. “I want to be alone.”

“Was it Dad?” Klaus stands up from the bed, a little unsteady on his feet. “Was it Luther?”

“No,” Allison shakes her head, retreating a step back toward the closed door. “Yes, no, it’s. Everything.”

“Everything’s a lot,” Klaus says. After he says it, it feels sage and wise, steeped in wisdom. Allison just frowns at him.

“And Vanya’s filling out college applications, and I never even thought of that – going to college, and Luther says it’s a stupid idea, because we’re needed here, and – Christ, you’re high, aren’t you?”

“Vanya’s applying to college?” Klaus asks, and fuck, maybe he needs to sit down again. Allison’s right – college was something that felt far away and obscure, like a part of life that would never be available to them. To be fair, so had death, for awhile.

“I guess dad told her that as long as it was in the state, she could go,” Allison frowns, sniffling again. Klaus ponders this, looking beyond Allison at her vanity mirror, lined by little lightbulbs. “What are you on, Klaus?”

“What?” Klaus asks. He doesn’t really like to think about being high while he’s high. Every time he breaches some form of self-awareness, the ghosts come back. Not strong, not visible like when he’s sober, but they whisper.

“Are you high?” Allison repeats herself, and Klaus shrugs noncommittally. Allison groans deep in her throat. “Of course you are.”

“What does that mean?” Klaus asks, and suddenly he’s angry. He doesn’t like being angry when he’s high, either, doesn’t like being angry at all, but something has shifted inside of him. He’s thinking about the house, and Donny, and college, and it’s all too much. He wants to be _empty_ , and happy, and all anyone ever does is fill him right back up again.

“It means you’ve been pulling this shit since we turned thirteen, and maybe I’m sick of it.”

“It’s never been a problem before.”

“It’s always a problem,” Allison says. “Luther –”

“You’re listening to Luther now?” Klaus runs his hands through his hair. He looks at Allison now, and for the first time he just sees – someone. Not the girl who used to sneak out with him to the movies, not the sister he held, crying, after they got their tattoos. Just…someone else. “Luther – stick up his ass, never let go for a moment of his life, Luther. When did you start hating fun, Allison?”

“I don’t hate fun,” Allison snaps. “I hate talking to you when you’re like this, and we can’t even have a conversation –”

“We are talking, Allison!” Klaus spins around in a little circle, exasperated. “What we’re doing right now? Talking.”

“Ugh,” Allison groans. “Why are you even still here?”

“I’m not,” Klaus grabs his jacket from the bed. “I’m going to leave. Maybe I’ll go to college too, like Vanya.”

“You,” Allison deadpans. “Go to college.”

“I could! I could get the hell out of here and go to college. I’m going to go, and I’m going to have fun, and I’m going to fuck every frat boy that looks me in the eye, because I can do whatever I want!”

“You’re being very immature right now.”

“I’m growing up. Moving on.” Klaus doesn’t even know why he came in here in the first place now. He had been feeling nostalgic, but now it’s just shriveled up inside of him, and he’s too full. “I’m fucking transcending – and you, and everyone, you can stay here, listening to Dad and oogling over Luther’s big muscles, but I won’t.”

Allison is grinding her teeth, staring at him with unshed tears leftover in her eyes. Her arms are still locked across her chest, like her guts are going to spill out onto the floor. Klaus should know. He’s watched it happen with enough ghosts.

“Whatever it is you’re doing?” Allison says the words softly, but they still tremble. “You need to stop. You need to get your act together, Klaus –”

“God, why do you keep reading lines out of Luther’s handbook –”

“Because he’s _right_.” Oddly enough, Allison’s outburst sounds like a plea. It doesn’t faze him.

He nods, ignoring the way his chest is full, ignoring the way that the love has morphed into hate – hate for their Dad, for the house, for everything. If he doesn’t ignore it, he’ll turn into Luther, bitter and repressed, or Diego, angsty and combative. He doesn’t want to be any of those things. He just wants to be empty.

“Cool,” he says, and pushes past Allison to the door. The lights in the hallway are too fucking dim, and he trips a bit on the carpet, but he keeps going. Maybe Donny will let him spend the night. Allison calls his name, coming to the doorway, but she doesn’t follow him down the stairs, or through the atrium, or out the front hall. She doesn’t follow him downtown like she used to, when they were looking for anything to do.

As he passes the movie theater, eyeing posters with actors’ faces blown up wide, he thinks he understands. Allison was always running _toward_ something. All he ever could manage to do was run away.

.

“Hey, Diego?”

Diego sighs from across the room, a heavy, burdensome sound. Klaus tries not to take offense. His brother is pretty regularly stressed out. Just, like, a ball of tense muscles. “What.”

“Can we talk?”

Diego sighs again, seemingly unaware that on a social level, it’s a pretty dick move. He gestures to the empty room around them, which is a dark grey bank vault, illuminated only by a singular overhead light. There’s a shit ton of like, Benjamins and gold around them, and that’s cool, but what’s less cool is the fact that they were thrown in here by the Baddie of the Week, the door locked behind them. Why they went back to trying to beat up the bad guys instead of letting everyone else take care of it, Klaus will never know. He only signed up for the apocalypse-proportion gigs, and yet here he was. He couldn’t even sneak a wad of cash into his pants to take home with him – Diego had already snapped at him about it.

As far as virtues go, Klaus thinks, this one is pretty stupid.

“We’re gonna be here awhile, man.” They heard sounds of fighting outside a little while ago, but now it’s very quiet. It’s disconcerting, to say the least. “I think we can talk.”

“Cool,” Klaus nods. “Can…I wanna talk about Ben.”

Diego raises an eyebrow at him. “Can’t he like, hear you?”

“Nah,” Klaus waves a hand in dismissal. “I sent him off to do some recon. He’s gonna try to find the others, or the code to the vault, or something. Since he can, you know, walk through walls.”

Diego makes a sound of acknowledgment deep in his throat. “Huh. That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

“You don’t have to look so shocked. I have my moments.”

“Was it Ben’s idea?”

“That’s between me and God.”

Diego leans back against the concrete of the vault wall, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. “Sure, whatever. Shoot.”

Suddenly, Klaus can’t look anywhere but at his hands. “Do you remember the fight we had, the night before Ben died?”

Diego’s eyebrows furrow, but beyond that he doesn’t react for a long moment. Then, he takes a long, measured breath.

“Kinda,” he says. “What about it?”

“I was just thinking about it,” Klaus says. “For awhile, after Five was gone to the wind, you know, it kind of felt like just the four of us. You, me, Ben, and Allison. Vanya was in her own corner, which, I mean, turned out to be like a jail cell, but –”

“And Luther was busy waiting at Dad’s right hand,” Diego scoffs. He still has his eyes closed. “I remember.”

“Right, you get it. And, I mean, I guess. Do you even remember what we were fighting about?”

There’s the slight downturn to Diego’s lips. “No.”

Klaus laughs then, a panicked sound. It’s enough to make Diego open his eyes and look at him. “You see, that’s the thing. I don’t remember, either. I don’t even remember, I just remember you two had made Allison upset, and she was angry, and I took her side. I just - I just chose a side, and I was angry too, and then the next day Ben was dead.” Klaus’ voice cracks slightly, and he bites his lip. Diego’s staring at him. They never do this. “It’s been like, fucking thirteen years or whatever, and I haven’t been able to work up the balls to ask if he’s angry – if he’s ever angry that my last words to him were something like _fuck you_.”

Diego blinks. “Klaus, give yourself some credit. They were probably more like _fuck you, eldritch asswipe_.”

Klaus stares for a second, and then he’s fucking wheezing out a laugh, crashing back into the wall behind him. When he opens his eyes, Diego’s moved closer, still sitting cross-legged on the floor like they’re gathering for story time. It’s so weird that Klaus has the sudden urge to take a picture.

“Look,” Diego says. “You’re always talking about Ben like he was some angel brother, and that you’re the reason he died. But he wasn’t, and you weren’t.”

Some emotion flares up in Klaus’ chest, and he feels the irrational need to defend Ben. “But –”

“I’m not saying he wasn’t the best of us, or that we didn’t fuck up,” Diego presses. “But that shit was on all of us. Mostly Dad. If that fucker hadn’t –”

“Diego,” Klaus murmurs. “Sidetracked.”

“Right. What I’m saying is, I think sometimes that because you still see him, and can still talk to him, you forget how he was when we were all kids. The rest of us are stuck with that memory. And it’s not to say we didn’t love him, but Klaus – Ben was _miserable_ , and bitter. We all had demons, but his lived in his fucking body. And we were _sixteen_. All of us were assholes.”

“Still are,” Klaus says with false cheer. Diego’s lips quirk up minutely, so he considers it a win.

“I’m sure Ben isn’t mad. I bet Allison’s not mad, either. I’m not. I’ve found new shit to hate you for.”

“I guess so,” Klaus muses, snaking a hand up toward his chest and laying it there. “I always think about what people would say if it was the other way around, you know? I guess we’ll never really find out. Every time I dip down someone’s always there to scoop me back up into the land of the living again. Usually it’s Ben. I think he hates the irony.”

Diego’s eyebrows furrow again. “What are you talking about?”

“Like, remember when we were fourteen, and you lost your favorite knife? The one that was all shiny, and iridescent, and whatever? You were so mad when you found out I took it and pawned it so I could buy moonshine.”

Diego’s face falls. “You _what_?”

“Oops,” Klaus says, and that’s when Ben phases through the wall to tell them that he found the others, and needs Klaus to focus on making him corporeal so he can tell them where they are. Klaus sits like he’s going to meditate and waits until Ben’s back on the other side before clenching his fists, concentrating like he’s never done before. God, if this is what Reginald had been asking of him all his life, he’s glad he didn’t comply before he turned 30.

Eventually, Luther rips the vault door out of the fucking wall, and they all congratulate one another on the successful arrest of all the bad guys, and no one had even killed anyone this time. Klaus wipes away a small trail of sweat from the back of his neck and nods a thank you to Ben. He demands they go out for waffles as celebration, and miraculously they listen. Maybe they feel bad about the whole trapped-in-a-vault thing, but either way, forty-five minutes later Klaus has a waffle twice the size of his head in front of him, piled high with whipped cream and strawberries. Everyone nibbles on their own treats, Five sipping contentedly at a cup of coffee, and they clear a space next to Klaus for Ben to sit. Klaus orders him a stack of pancakes, despite the fact that he can’t eat it, and manifests Ben long enough to swat at Luther’s hand as he tries to snag one off the top.

Everyone laughs, but when Klaus looks up, Diego’s staring back at him with a frown on his face. Like he’s a puzzle, a maze he just has to work through, a means to an end. Klaus has never liked that face.

He goes back to his waffles.

.

They’re ten when Klaus disappears for the first time. They’re all used to being dragged away for individual training sessions with Dad to work on expanding their powers and steeling themselves against vague disappointment, but Klaus is always gone for longer. It starts out as a few hours, and then it progresses to days at a time. Dad loads him into the back of their long, black car that’s always reminded Klaus more of a hearse than a limousine, and he takes him to the graveyard. They often leave in the morning, and he doesn’t return until after dinnertime, cold and withdrawn. Ben or sometimes Allison corner him in the hallway after the first few times, a small _what happened_ or _are you alright_ on their tongues.

“Dreamy,” Klaus croaks out, focusing very hard on keeping his voice steady. “Dad always knows how to throw the most bitchin’ parties.”

Almost always they let it slide and leave it alone. Even before the drugs and the communication lapses, Klaus had carved himself into the king of deflection. The key, he’s found, is being honest in all the right places, and silent in the rest. Everyone knows he can see the ghosts, but not once has he described to another person what they look like, what they say – how they sound, and how deeply afraid of them he is. He ricochets between being rattled to his goddamn bones and simply being pissed enough to commit several re-homicides. They just don’t leave him _alone_. They crowd around him, pleading for him to listen to their stories, to do something, to help, like the worst counseling gig ever. They think he can do more than he can. They’re just like Dad.

After a session in the graveyard and another lecture from Reginald, Klaus sits in his room and he builds up the resolve to try – he really does. He acknowledges one of the ghosts, a young girl with drawn, sad eyes that looks the least terrifying of the bunch, but as soon as he’s addressed one of them, they all pile into his room, crowding the walls and hanging out his window. He presses his ears to his head and crowds into the corner, trying to get them to leave. He stays awake through the night and has nightmares when he nods off in the morning, tucked up in the chair in Diego’s room. Diego never asks him any questions.

Then – the mausoleum. The fear, and the pain. They crowd around him, asking, pleading, threatening, and he loses all sense of effort at all. Reginald tosses him in again and again, every time he can’t progress to the imaginary standard set for him, every time he can’t bring himself to look at or speak to the specters surrounding him. Surrounding him here, surrounding him always – in the graveyard, there are simply more. He emerges with his skin pale and drawn gray like the ghosts were drawing out his blood, small scratches littering his arms that he can’t remember whether he or the ghosts made. The stretches of time he disappears from the mansion become longer, five hours turning into twelve, eighteen, twenty-four, and everyone just stops asking.

At fourteen he crashes his first high school kegger in some dude’s back yard. Someone passes him a joint and hands him a cup and he climbs back in through his bedroom window at two am. He crashes into Diego on his way to the bathroom, smelling like weed and cheap beer, and then people really stop asking questions when he comes home late at night.

Klaus thinks about these stretches of time – how a few hours and concern morphed into nights out and rolled eyes, morphed into weeks gone and benders and lost time and lost looks, how no one ever really looks for him, he’s just there. Always there, when the ghosts and Ben never are. Always, never.

He’s in his moody phase of puberty, somewhere around fifteen, and Pogo comes upstairs to tell him he’ll be going with Reginald to the graveyard after dinner. Klaus’ heart sinks with the idea of spending the whole night in the mausoleum again, not sleeping, and being forced to train the next day. Maybe he’ll make him go the next night too, and the night after, until Klaus feels like he’s going insane. He wouldn’t put it above him. He’s done it before.

Klaus feels the urge to run away, like he does every time this happens – to climb out the window and never look back. He never does. He eats dinner with everyone else, mouth shut, and eyes cast down. If anyone tries to catch his eye, he doesn’t notice. After everyone disperses, Klaus remains, and he follows Pogo out to the car.

They park near the mausoleum, but when they get out, Reginald walks past it to an open space between rows of headstones. Klaus opens his mouth to question him, but his dad beats him to it.

“I’m allowing you a chance to prove to me you are no longer afraid of the specters you see,” Reginald says, voice stony and cold. It fits the scenery. “We will work today on conjuring a soul from this resting place, and you will tell me its story of death. If not, it will seem fit that you may need to spend more time here alone to strike up a conversation.”

“No,” Klaus mutters, the gears turning in his mind. “I mean, I’m not sure if I – if I can choose. There’s so many, I –”

“Speak purposefully, Number Four,” Reginald snaps. “I will not tolerate any rambling or stalling. We will pick a name at random from the headstones here.”

“How will I know if they’re even still a _ghost_? Don’t people still go to hell, or something?”

“That is why you will _conjure_ them. It is not like picking a ghost out of a crowd; you should be able to bring forth a specific soul, with your due concentration. Pogo?”

“Elizabeth Harrington,” Pogo reads out from one of the the still-legible headstones. “Born 1889, died 1902.”

 _Great_ , Klaus thinks. _More puberty._

“Focus, Number Four,” Reginald demands, and Klaus stands up straight, closing his eyes and clenching his fists. He can see all the spirits that are present around him – always can, even when his eyes are closed – but he has no idea how to sort through them without having them form a line and work through like he’s selling cotton candy. They start to talk, and his heart begins to beat wildly in his chest. He tries to reach out with his mind, search through the sea of bodies for thirteen-year-old girls.

There’s a sharp noise to his right, the sound of metal on metal, but Klaus ignores it. There are only two young girls here, both over the age of ten but not yet grown. Klaus feels something surge through his chest. He opens his mouth, his voice a small rasp.

“Elizabeth?”

“Explain yourself!” Reginald’s voice suddenly breaks through his focus, and whatever control Klaus had somehow gathered is gone. Reginald and Pogo are staring off to the right, the east side of the cemetery. When Klaus turns his head, he sees a dark figure beneath a tree twenty feet away. They have a shovel in their hand, and a backpack strapped to their back. “This is private property! I will not hesitate to call the authorities.”

The figure steps forward, and Klaus is prepared for it to be any number of people – one of his siblings, or maybe even one of the goons they’ve helped put away in prison over the years. But as the man steps forward, Klaus finds he doesn’t recognize him at all. He’s just a stranger. And in the hand that’s not gripping the shovel, he’s holding a gun.

“It’ll be all right, now,” the man says, and his voice is soothing and calm. Klaus finds it all to be extremely contradictory. Vanya would probably pull out one of her PSAT words, call it _ironic_. “Just empty your pockets, toss what you got over to me.”

“Are you seriously attempting one of the most despicable, pathetic crimes society has thought up?” Reginald asks, like he’s this guy’s horrible dad, too. “Grave robbery?”

“Just hand over what you got, sir,” the man repeats. “Don’t wanna hurt you or the kid, now.”

Klaus isn’t as brave as his other siblings. Even Ben has a quieter, steeled courage about him – comes with the gig, he guesses. Klaus is usually stuck with being lookout, since he hasn’t figured out how to weaponize his powers, can’t do much other than lock the doors behind him and hope for the best – but he does go through the same combat training as everyone else. He still has sat through endless sessions, learning when to duck when he should and how to kick with his scrawny legs. How to fire a firearm, and how to disarm someone holding one.

He turns and runs the short distance between him and the man before either of them are prepared for it. He skids as he nears him, pushing aside his armed hand and kicking out at his knee at the same time. The man crashes to the ground, the gun bouncing away into the grass. Klaus follows him down, and grapples with him until they’re both semi-standing. He hears Reginald shouting at Pogo in the background and grits his teeth.

“You little shit,” The man spits. “My knee – you’re gonna pay.”

“I’m gonna bite your fucking dick off,” Klaus screams in response. He kicks the man in the chest and follows it up with an elbow to his nose. The man grabs a hold of his blazer and throws him sideways – Klaus rolls over in the grass and slams against a headstone, his head ringing as it collides with the granite. His hands fumble in the grass and he comes up with the man’s pistol in his hand. The man lumbers toward him, shovel raised high in the air, and Klaus flicks the safety off, bringing the hammer back.

He almost looks to Dad, but he doesn’t. He brings the gun up in line with the man’s chest, watches as the man swings the shovel downwards, and fires just a second too slow.

For a long minute, his world flashes into something pure white. It’s so bright, but he can’t close his eyes – but then it begins to dim slightly, the outline of trees coming into view like he’s peering through a dense fog. Beyond that, he can almost see the outline of a person, short and slim, a simple silhouette. It feels like he’s been sitting where he is for a long time, and only a few seconds. Just as he’s about to squint to make out who it is standing in the fog, he gets a bitter taste in his mouth, like he’s just chewed up dirt and herbs. He leans over to spit, the world darkening around him, and he opens his eyes.

The graveyard is quiet, only the singing of cicadas breaking the sound of his shallow breath. Klaus groans, coming up into a sitting position from where he had been hunched against the headstone. He brings a hand up to his head, moaning at the headache he’s sporting. The grave robber must have knocked him out. Klaus peers over his knees and sees the man in question lying in the grass in front of him. Even in the dark Klaus can see his open eyes and the blood glistening under the moonlight, coming from the hole in the man’s chest.

Klaus is suddenly blinded by light and thinks for a second he’s back in that foggy forest, but it’s just the lights of the academy car. Reginald emerges from the passenger seat, walking over to Klaus as he steps over the man’s body. Maybe, Klaus thinks, this was all some sick test. Maybe he passed.

“Dad?” Klaus asks, shifting, and notices that Reginald has stopped a few feet away from him, staring down at him with an unreadable look on his face. “What happened? Did he knock me out?”

Reginald stares at him for a moment longer, jaw tightly clenched. He looks Klaus up and down in that way that always makes Klaus feel more like lab rat than human child. “It has been an interesting night to say the least, Number Four. Get up. We’re going home.”

“No mausoleum?” Klaus asks, and instantly regrets it, thinking that Reginald will change his mind. Nothing happens.

“Not tonight,” Reginald says, and walks back toward the car, leaving Klaus to raise himself up on shaky limbs. The ride back is silent. When they return, Pogo walks Klaus back to the dining room, where he sits in his normal seat, dazed and exhausted.

“Mr. Hargreeves wants to run a few tests before you go to sleep, Master Klaus,” Pogo says quietly. “Just to make sure you’re…alright.”

“Yeah,” Klaus hears himself say. “Sure.”

He doesn’t go to sleep that night, instead staying up until the early morning going through a full physical, plus some. Pogo asks him a few questions, but Klaus doesn’t remember what he says to answer them. All he knows is after it’s all done, he’s led back to the dining room table, and Mom gives him extra dessert for the first and only time in his life.

The next morning, he looks at himself in the mirror, dragging a hand down one side of his face and inspecting the dark bags beneath his eyes. His skin has the same gray, corpse-like tinge to it he always has after a night in the graveyard, and there’s a small thin line on his forehead where the man’s shovel hit him. He wants to think that maybe he just didn’t hit him that hard, but he’s lived fifteen years in this mansion of hell and mystery, and he knows better.

He goes down to the dining room to meet everyone for breakfast, and no one mentions a thing.

One day, when the ghosts are particularly loud, but not loud enough to shut him down, he laments about their constant presence in a vague, roundabout way. They’re all sitting at the breakfast table, Reginald already having risen to go to a special meeting of some sort. Klaus stutters his way into trying to explain himself long enough that everyone stares at him, and then just gets up to leave. Every time he wants people to pay attention to his plight, he finds himself unable to truly share what it’s like with anyone else, not even Allison. He wants to talk about the things the ghosts say, what they’ve been through and force him into living through vicariously. He wants to talk about the mausoleum, and the graveyard, how he’s pretty sure he may have already died and how scary that is and how he feels like he’s walking around with one foot in the grave and one on the grass and no one is noticing.

None of it gets out of his throat.

“Well,” Luther says, mouth working around a bite of his fourth bowl of cereal, “At least you’re never lonely.”

He and Luther are the only two left at the table. Somehow, Luther’s response makes him angry. He always forgets, until he tries – no one understands. His mind goes to the flask of honey whiskey he has stashed in his underwear drawer. He’s already discovered that weed and booze dull the ghosts out, but he hasn’t yet touched the hard stuff that makes them disappear altogether. Luther’s lost interest in him, now that he’s finished his monstrous breakfast, and he rises from the table, leaving Klaus to sit there until Grace puts a hand on his shoulder, telling him it’s time to train.

Klaus thinks he feels lonely, thinks maybe he defined the word, but maybe he just doesn’t know what lonely is. After all, Luther’s right – he’s never alone. On the other hand, if his hunch is right, he’ll never be the one to abandon them. He’ll always be the last one at the table – and that, Klaus thinks, is a damn good definition.

Maybe he doesn’t really know what lonely is: the true, all-encompassing, quiet of loneliness. Someone offers him a pill in a basement, sometime in June, some year, and Klaus decides maybe he should chase the lonely, and figure it out.

.

After awhile it becomes clear that with experience saving the world comes experience having lots of people in the world that want to murder you. Klaus wonders sometimes if they have a facebook group page, or something. The Anti-Umbrella Squad. The Umbrella Academy Kid-Killers. Eh, maybe someone came up with a better name. It’s not _his_ job to name the enemy, after all. Whatever it is, it’s probably better than the lame name and costumes they have. Villains always had cooler outfits and better names. As a group, they don’t even wear the costumes anymore – the first time Luther had tried to pull out newly tailored Umbrella Academy uniforms, Diego had practically torn them apart with his bare hands. If Klaus dropped a lit cigarette on the shreds afterwards, well, that was simply an accident.

The only one that dresses _remotely_ as well as him is Allison, and even still, she’s become less adventurous in Klaus’ opinion. Age shouldn’t limit you. Come on, look at Five – nearly 60 years old and still wearing his socks up to his knees.

“Can you snap out of whatever orgy-fueled daydream you’re in and help me?” Five snaps, casting a gesture over the expansive forest floor they’re supposed to be searching. For what, Klaus doesn’t quite remember. Some sort of fancy jewel, or artifact, or whatever. At the mention of an orgy, Klaus scrunches up his nose. Not when he was thinking about his siblings’ senses of fashion. _Gross._

“I’m sure you have a better sense of what it looks like,” Klaus waves a hand through the air. “You know. The amulet of power, or whatever.”

“It’s a gear ring,” Ben says, leaning up against a tree. “You know, for a machine?”

“How did I get stuck with you?” Five asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What’s with this pairing-off thing, anyway?” Klaus wonders aloud, ignoring both of their comments. “We only had six people on missions beforehand, anyway, and we didn’t enact the buddy system.”

“You need to hold my hand?” Ben taunts him, and Klaus bares his teeth.

“After I travelled to the future, you only had five people on missions,” Five points out. “And even when I was here, you were always playing lookout.”

“Oh yeah,” Klaus remembers. “I always looked so sexy doing it, too.”

Five rolls his eyes so hard his entire head moves, and resumes searching the ground for the missing gear piece. Some of the others are looking, too, while Luther and Vanya are guarding the machine, which –

“What does this machine thing do again?” Klaus asks, and Ben groans audibly behind him. Rude. “I thought Vanya blew it up for a reason.”

“She did,” Five says. “It’s a machine built to stop the flow of the space-time continuum, that is, to stop the natural progression of the timeline. The Commission has destroyed some machines like it over the years, but most of them wouldn’t have even worked. This one did.”

“So why are we searching for its lost parts?” Klaus kicks a patch of moss at the base of a tree. “Can’t we let nature do its thing and swallow it into obscurity?”

“We can’t risk the pieces getting back into the wrong hands,” Five mutters. “We have to take it back to the house, and make sure it’s properly destroyed. Plus, I want to tinker with its components for awhile, figure out how it works.”

“How very mad scientist of you,” Klaus says airily, and then crouches down to the ground.

The portion of forest they’re in had been pretty much wiped out by one of Vanya’s patented I’m-angry-now sound blasts, the grass flattened to the ground and several tree branches littering the space, making it difficult to walk. In front of him, though, is a patch of perfectly formed, round mushrooms, glowing slightly in a bioluminescent blue hue in the paling dusk light. Klaus blinks. Beyond the first mushroom, in the middle of the patch, sits a jagged piece of metal, which is also glowing.

“Hey, I think I found something,” Klaus calls. Five disappears and reappears next to him, bending over and grabbing the metal piece from the ground. Klaus pokes one of the mushrooms, holding in the urge to sneeze when a small burst of bright blue spores erupts from the bottom of the dome. “Holy shit, can we _eat these –_ ”

Klaus opens his eyes, his head pounding. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them. One minute he’s looking at mushrooms in the middle of the forest, the next he’s in some sort of dank concrete basement. With a jolt, he realizes he’s shirtless. He’s also hanging upside down. He knows because Ben is right in front of him, turned the wrong way around.

He shakes his head, trying to clear his vision, but all it does is make him dizzier. “What the fuck happened? Did I die? Did the mushrooms kill me?”

“You didn’t die, you idiot,” and hey, Five is there too. He’s also hanging upside down, about ten feet away from Klaus, which means that either they’re both upside down or Ben is. This is all very confusing. “The same people that built the machine knocked us out in the woods.”

Klaus looks down (up?) at his feet, seeing them secured in metal boots attached to a band of metal jutting across the ceiling. The entire length of the metal is glowing in the same electric-blue light. Klaus’ arms are hanging down toward the floor, but Five’s are crossed, clutching at his bare, little boy chest. He looks livid.

“Let me guess,” Klaus muses. “They have another machine.”

“They have another machine.”

God, his head is a whole world of hurt. “This is the hangover from hell, right now. Can’t they get me like, a chaise lounge, or something?”

“You don’t have a hangover,” Five’s doing the thing where he speaks like he’s talking to very small children. Klaus scrunches up his face. He hates it. “You were hit over the head with something very heavy and very dull.”

“Blunt force trauma is just how I like to start my day.”

“Klaus, open your eyes,” Ben says. Klaus sticks his tongue out at him. “Let me check if you have a concussion.”

“Get away from me, doctor octopus,” Klaus swings a hand in Ben’s general direction. “No touchy.”

“Doc Oc?” Ben scoffs. “Really? You can do better.”

“Leave me alone, I’m concussed here,” Klaus whines. “All the blood is rushing toward my head. I want bagel bites.”

Five groans. “We’re doomed.”

“I don’t hear you offering any solutions,” Klaus spits. “Why don’t you poof out of here and get the others?”

“If you hadn’t noticed, I can’t,” Five deadpans. “The plate is interfering with my powers. Trust me, I’d leave you behind if I could.”

“That’s sweet.”

Two obscure and frankly cliché-looking goons walk into the room, giving them a once-over with their eyes. They start spouting off about their evil plot to take over Disneyland or the world or whatever, and Klaus leaves Five to do the verbal combat. He’s much better at the witty one-liners and stripping you apart to fry with his words thing. Plus, Klaus is distracted. He’s distracted by the pounding in his head, and the hunger gnawing through his belly, and the small crowd of ghosts wandering aimlessly about the room. Ben looks from the ghosts back to Klaus, his eyebrow raised.

It’s not the ghosts being weird and directionless that’s bugging him. It’s the fact that there’s one that’s not walking around, instead just leaning against the back wall much like Ben usually does, his eyes trained on him. The ghost is an older man, not quite elderly but with a shock of white hair slicked back on his head, a pair of round spectacles on his face. When Klaus makes eye contact with him, he smiles.

“You enjoying the show, dickwipe?” Klaus jeers. Five side-eyes him with lethal force, and Klaus redirects his gaze so it looks like he was talking to one of the guards, who is also looking at his exposed chest. “I charge by the hour.”

“They told us about the boy,” The man remarks, crinkling his nose. “But they didn’t tell us about a hippie asshole.”

“I’ll have you know I was very famous for a hot minute,” Klaus says. “We all had action figures, and everything.”

“Oh yeah?” The man taunts, leaning forward and pushing on Klaus’ leg. He swings backward slightly, unable to stop his momentum as he comes back forward. He thinks he might yak. “Oh, I remember now! You’re the kid with the ghoulies.”

“Which one?” The other guard asks gruffly.

“You know, like the one from that movie? The Bruce Willis one? I see dead people, and all that.”

“Wow,” Klaus says. “You know, I usually don’t give out awards to my captors, but you two really deserve points for originality.”

“You got a mouth on you, huh?”

“I’m just saying, I was around for ten years before that movie was made. Talk about plagiarism.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” The first guard says. “So, what, just the dead people thing? Nothing fun? You got any party tricks?”

The dude has a very northern accent – Boston, Klaus thinks – so _party_ ends up sounding like _potty_. _pahty._ Klaus sniggers under his breath.

“Oh yeah, I am the _pahty_ ,” Klaus mocks, and the man frowns. “I’ve got lots of tricks, just let me down from here and I will rock your world –”

“Alright, shut up,” the other guard spits, unamused. “We’re not here to joke around with you.”

“Then what are you here for?” Five sneers.

“You,” the guard says, turning back toward Five. “Have information from the Commission I’m sure our employer would love to hear. Him? He’s dead weight.”

“That’s what they’re always telling me,” Klaus mutters. He looks up and catches the ghost’s eye again. He’s still smiling, and very slowly, he shakes his head from left to right. Klaus is so thrown off guard by his demeanor that he doesn’t realize when the guard is undoing his binds. His feet are freed from the metal boots attached to the ceiling, and he becomes dead weight, more than figuratively, as he drops to the floor.

Almost immediately the guard is pulling him up to his feet, pulling his arms behind them and securing his wrists with a zip-tie.

“That’s gonna cost you twenty bucks, sweetheart,” Klaus murmurs, but the guard just pushes him forward toward one of the tanks lining the wall of the room. He expects it to be some sort of radioactive sludge or toxic acid, but it just looks like plain old water. He looks back at Five, but he’s just hanging there, his jaw clenched in some unreadable emotion. “We taking a bath together?”

“I’m going to give you one chance to be useful,” The other guard says, coming up in front of Klaus. The ghost leaning on the wall comes forward to watch, piercing blue eyes locked on Klaus. As he gets closer, Klaus sees the jagged line of a knife across the ghost’s neck, oozing out blood steadily. He can’t help it – he shivers. “You tell me where the rest of our freak show family went off to, and maybe I’ll let you live five minutes longer.”

“Let me see,” Klaus drawls. “What can I do in five minutes? I could eat one last snack, maybe. Or you and I could go for a round – you look like you’d only last thirty seconds before you popped, anyway.”

“Klaus,” Ben warns him from behind, voice full of worry, but the man’s face has already contorted into a sheet of anger, and then Klaus’ head is being pushed down beneath the water in a violent splash.

He probably should have been prepared for it, but somehow, he wasn’t, and his breath leaves him in a giant bubble beneath the surface. He’s realizing that this water has probably just been sitting around, and that it’s really dirty and gross as hell, and he’s not Diego, okay? His head hurts and they caught him off guard and now his chest hurts as well, he may have breathed in a bit of the dirty dick water.

A hand latches onto the back of his head, pulling on his hair and hoisting him out of the water. Klaus coughs, looking forward into the ghost’s eyes. The ghost blinks, still smiling, and Klaus lets out a single, harsh bark of laughter.

“The fuck are you looking at?” He snarls, water dribbling out of his mouth.

“Klaus,” Ben says, coming up beside him. “Klaus, take a breath.”

He juts out his chin toward the ghost, blood close to boiling. “We’ve got, what, like, a freakin’ peeping tom.”

“Klaus, shut the fuck up,” he hears Five say now, because he loves him.

“One more time,” The guard says. The hand is really, really tight in his hair, and it makes his headache so much worse. “You got anything you think I should know?”

Klaus looks up at him and his ugly-ass beard. “I thought I only got one chance. You going back on your word now, hot-stuff?”

He looks back toward the ghost in front of him, pinching his lips in tight. To his surprise, the ghost leans forward, blood gurgling out of the wound in his neck every time he opens his mouth to speak.

“It’s okay, Klaus,” The ghost says, and Klaus freezes, a million thoughts running through his head and none of them sticking. “I can wait.”

Five says “Klaus,” just as Klaus yells “This is so _cliché!_ ” and they dunk his head under the water again.

He doesn’t know how long he lasts – holding his breath underwater hasn’t been something he’s timed since they were little kids, training like freaking Olympic swimmers. All he knows is he fights at first, in a timed, disjointed way meant to conserve energy that doesn’t really work. He hears the muffled sounds of yelling, and then maybe even fighting as he lets out his first big exhale, bubbles shooting to the surface. He manages not to breath any water in, but then he has to exhale again, and his muscles work on their own, and then he thinks he’s drowning. At least, it feels like he’s drowning, but then it feels like he’s swimming. It feels like there’s no one even holding on to him anymore, and he’s swimming down into the tank, toward the bottom which has opened up into a bright tunnel. Beyond it, he sees the outline of trees, and he swims forward, letting the light obscure his whole view –

He’s on his back on the concrete floor, staring up at the ceiling. Ben is crouched beside him, saying his name. There’s a moment where his mind catches up before his body does, which feels weird, like it should be the other way around. It’s not until Five comes into the field of his peripheral vision, absolutely splattered with blood, that Klaus begins to cough. What feels like rivers of water comes out of his mouth, and he turns onto his side before falling forward on his elbows. The water turns to bile and more water, and then just the residual feeling of knives scratching against his throat.

He rolls back over, and Five is glaring down at him. “You maybe want to tell me what the fuck just happened?”

Klaus coughs again, right up into Five’s breathing space. “You first.”

Five grimaces. “I got one of them to come close to me, and then I killed him and took the key to the lock on the boots. Then I killed the other one, and found you drowned on the floor.”

Klaus looks to his side and sure enough, there are two totally dead bodies in similar positions as he’s in littered on the concrete. “Huh,” he says, rising up onto his elbows. “Well, all in a day’s work. Let’s go out for tacos.”

“Not so fast,” Five says, but he leans down to help Klaus into a standing position anyway. “You don’t expect me to just forge right past the part where you were dead on the floor, right?”

“I mean, kinda,” Klaus shrugs. When Five continues to stare at him he sighs, drawing out the sound in an annoyed tune. “What do you want me to say? Sure, things got dark and hazy for a minute there, but obviously my good ole heart was still a-thumpin’. You must have gotten him to pull me out of there at just the right time.”

“You’re so full of shit,” Ben says, as Five glares at him analytically.

Klaus coughs into his hand. “Everybody’s a critic.”

Five stares at him for a moment longer, and then concedes. “Fine. Whatever. We’re checking out your lungs and vitals when we get back.”

“Aw, Fivey,” Klaus swoons. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Five mutters, but he still looks troubled. He casts a look at the dead bodies on the floor, and his grimace deepens. “I’ll come back for them after we find the others, and I’ll disable this machine, look to see if they have any more. Grab on.”

Klaus puts a shaky hand over Five’s forearm, and Ben clasps Klaus’ shoulder, staring at him like he can will Klaus to look him in the eye. He can’t. Klaus is going to ride denial for as long as it’ll take him, and then he’s going to shut up and never mention it again. It’ll be easy. He’s had years of practice.

Five tells him to brace himself and he does, looking over into the corner of the room where the ghost of the old man is still standing, still with the small grin on his face. The same shiver runs down the length of Klaus’ spine, and then they jump, leaving the ghosts behind.

.

Klaus thinks that at some point, he forgot to feel afraid. Maybe that’s what the drugs were for – not for making him unafraid, but for reminding him that he is. Every time he runs out, now, he’s afraid – afraid of what he feels like without them, and what he’ll see. What he’ll hear. What he’ll feel.

“Hold still, Number Four,” Reginald says, and Klaus looks up at his father. He can’t tell if he’s dreaming, or remembering, or if this is happening in real life. If it’s happened in the past or going to happen in the future. He just knows that in this moment, he’s afraid. “I just want to test a few more things.”

Reginald fishes out a syringe from the small metal tray next to him, removing its covering and drawing out liquid from a small vial. He pulls a bit on the leather restraint around Klaus’ wrist – a little too much for this setting, if you ask him – and ties a tourniquet around his upper arm, finding a vein in the crook of Klaus’ elbow.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with this sensation,” Reginald muses, and Klaus doesn’t even have the strength to stand up against the blatant mockery. His dad has made it perfectly clear how he feels about Klaus’ drug habits, and usually Klaus tells him to stick his opinions where the sun don’t shine.

The sun doesn’t shine here, in this basement room. It doesn’t quite shine where he’s going, either.

Reginald flicks the side of the syringe, peering into the depths of its contents. Without warning, he slides the needle into Klaus’ vein, and then retreats to watch him. Klaus blinks languidly, once, twice. A vague burning sensation. He sees the trees again.

.

To his credit, Five doesn’t tell any of the others about the specifics of their little field trip. On the other hand, Five never tells anyone jackshit at any time ever, so Klaus isn’t sure whether or not she should actually be grateful. They all go back to the mansion, decidedly do _not_ go out for tacos, and Klaus sits in the infirmary with Five tough loving him for forty-five minutes. The rest of them lie down on various surfaces in the living room, and Luther goes into the kitchen with the intent to make them all a midnight snack, or something. Klaus isn’t sure when the mother hen bit started, but he’s already over it. The last thing he wants right now is a healthy, protein-filled wheat ball to calm his nerves.

Five warns them that the same men will be after them soon, and he’s right. They’re walking back from Griddy’s, having finally defeated Luther in his quest to make them healthy adults, when three men with big guns are suddenly standing on the sidewalk in front of them. Klaus is in the back with Diego, and they turn around to find three more at their backs. And their sides. And across the street.

“Great,” Diego mutters.

“Oh, come on,” Klaus moans. “It hasn’t even been like, twelve hours.”

Five bends his head to the side, cracking his neck. That can’t be healthy for a pre-teen. “No time like the present.”

“Is that a time joke?” Allison snaps.

Diego snorts. “I will kick your little ass.”

“Later,” Five dismisses, and then ducks as the man in front of him takes a swing at his face with the grip of his gun. Luther steps in front of Allison and Vanya, picking one of the goons up by their jacket and throwing them across the street. They knock into two more, sending them to the ground. Perfect strike. Klaus would applaud, if he wasn’t busy trying not to get hit in the face by a very strong fist.

The fight quickly takes over the entire street – cars slam to a stop, honking their horns, but then their occupants quickly flee as goons on the rooftops start firing bullets down at them. A couple even have machine guns. It’s all very excessive, really. They could have just sent a card.

Diego grabs Klaus and Vanya’s arms and pulls them to the side, ducking behind a post box. He pushes them down, their backs against the metal, and crouches in front of them.

He unsheathes a set of knives from his boot, twirling them around in his hand. “Stay here.”

“What?” Klaus shouts, the sound of the bullets firing overtaking the surrounding. Damn, these dudes really wanted them dead. What did they do again? Besides Five killing a couple?

“Are you serious?” Vanya asks. “We can help!”

“Stay. Safe.” Diego demands, and then rises. He sprints back out into the open, flipping and spinning around the flying bullets in a way that Klaus knows is taxing for the abs. How Diego’s not sore literally all the time, he’ll never understand.

Vanya peeks her head around the side of the mailbox, snapping back as a large chunk of rubble flies through the air and smashes into the storefront a few feet in front of them. She frowns, pulling her lips down and slightly to the side, and Klaus knows that look. It’s her I’m-going-to-do-the-thing-anyway look – they all have them. It’s not a good look. It is, decidedly, a bad one.

“Vanya,” Klaus says, tucking in closer to her side. “Maybe – maybe Diego’s right, we should just stay here –”

“I’m going to go help,” Vanya says determinedly. She dusts off rubble from her clothes. “I can do this.”

“Not to undermine your confidence or anything, but are you sure? Your powers, you know, really only have a track record of working when –” Klaus trails off as Vanya leaps from her sitting position, running out into the street toward where Luther is holding three men high in the air. “– you’re angry. Right. Cool.”

Klaus dares to look around the side of his hiding place. There’s entirely too many of them – the whole street is being torn apart by their weapons and blatant disregard for consequence. Yesterday they only had to deal with two losers, and today they sent the whole cavalry. Klaus winces as he sees Diego thrown into a streetlight and pulls his body back around the box. He can hear Five phasing in and out of reality, and the dull ringing in his ears that always comes when Vanya tries to control her powers. Klaus feels the urge to get up and help them, but what would he do? He hasn’t really tried to conjure any ghosts since the car crash and isn’t even sure if he could for longer than a view seconds, anyway. But they are all fighting a losing battle; he sneaks another look around and sees that the numbers haven’t diminished at all. They just keep coming.

The choice is made for him as a hand snakes down and grabs Klaus around the throat, pulling him up from the ground and into the air. The hand spins him around and slams him against the stone wall between two storefronts, pushing on his trachea even harder. The hand is attached to a person, which is good. What’s not good is that the person is very big, and muscular, and looks very angry. She doesn’t even say anything remotely villain-esque, just pushes on Klaus’ windpipe until he starts seeing spots.

“Anyone?” Klaus croaks out, kicking with his legs. He nearly gets the woman a couple times, but her arm is insanely long. “A little help?”

Ben flickers into his vision about ten feet away, immediately rolling his eyes. Ben makes a little gesture in the air with his hand. Klaus frowns. He walks toward him, and Klaus closes his eyes for a moment, ignoring the pain and lack of air and focusing on Ben. God, this better work.

Ben picks up a slab of rubble from the ground and slams it over the goon’s head. She drops to the ground, and Klaus lands unsteadily on his feet, rubbing at his throat. Ben drops the rubble, skimming his palms on his thighs.

“Oh man,” Ben grins. Weirdo. “That felt great.”

“Welcome to the land of the violent,” Klaus coughs out. He looks up again at the fight, and the sheer number of people still attacking them. He makes eye contact with Ben, and they nod. They always are more or less on the same wavelength. “Wanna cause a little mayhem?”

“I could be persuaded.”

Klaus ducks to the side, moving out into a slightly more open space next to the road, and Ben walks out to the middle of it all, flickering in and out of existence. He hears Allison rumor a man into shooting at his own men, and sees Luther swing a manhole cover at someone’s head. Five is up on the roof, somewhere. He can’t see Diego or Vanya. Ben turns to look at him, ready, and Klaus allows himself to focus just on him. No one is paying attention to him. He is alone; it’s just him and Ben. He clenches his fists, blue light emanating from the creases in between his fingers, and Ben glows along with him. There’s a siphon of power that’s initiated as Klaus connects himself with Ben, pushing his focus into him, and Ben takes it. In life, Ben always made himself smaller, giving what he could to others and making room for them at the table. When he used his powers, it was always the opposite. The Horror filled every room and took whatever it wanted. Ben’s eyes steel over, and then pinch with pain. Klaus gives him his power, and Ben swallows it whole.

The tentacles erupt from Ben’s midsection in a violent push, as though they were ripping open the skin of his abdomen. Immediately, many of them find their mark, wrapping around men and whipping them into open air, piercing straight through others’ chests. They pull people off of the rooftops, the men screaming as they plummet toward the ground. It feels like it’s in slow motion and fast forward all at once; Klaus has no sense of time as he holds out his arms, channeling his energy outward. Ben’s visage flickers in front of him, so Klaus squeezes his fists tighter, directs as much focus as he can into his brother. The numbers are dwindling, Ben’s powers turning the tide, and Klaus’ world starts to fade into a form of tunnel vision. All he can see is the fight, and Ben, and Ben winning. Klaus might not be able to help in many ways, his powers might be mostly useless, but he can do this. He can do this. All the others can bring themselves, but Klaus can bring Ben.

One tentacle sweeps an entire row of gunmen off of a ledge, while another grabs one running away and throws him in the opposite direction. Klaus doesn’t see where he lands, he just hears it, a sickening crunching sound. Ben’s eyes are heavy and intense, and Klaus feels the same. He can feel his arms faltering from where they’re held out in front of him. The tentacles can’t find any more bodies, so they start wrapping around streetlights and stop signs, pulling them out from the ground. Klaus doesn’t feel like he has any power left, but they take it anyway.

“Klaus!” Someone shouts, but Klaus can’t move. He’s locked in with Ben, can only see Ben. In his peripheral vision, he can see the skin on his arms turning pale and gray, veins bulging and peeling dry. It creeps up his arms from the glow of the creases in his fists. Klaus tries to be bothered, but he’s not. He’s seen what corpses look like. What’s one more?

“Ben, you need to stop! It’s over!”

“ _Klaus_!” The voice is much closer now, but he still can’t see it. “Klaus, it’s okay. Listen to me, it’s okay. You can let go. You need to let go!”

Finally, someone rushes forward and grabs his arms, pushing and pinning them down by his side. Diego steps in front of him, breaking his line of sight with Ben, and holds his arms down. Klaus blinks, shaking, and looks up at him. Diego is staring at his face, searching his eyes. Klaus isn’t sure what he’s searching for.

“Klaus?” Diego repeats, hands gripping his biceps, and Klaus looks over Diego’s shoulder. Ben is still there, the tentacles contracting through space and coming back inside of his body. The blue glow flickers in and out of sight as Ben’s face contorts from one of focus to one of shock and despair. Klaus looks distantly at the rest of them. They’re all standing far back, but he can still see them gazing upon the epicenter of Ben’s destruction. The road is torn apart, poles uprooted, and the pavement wet with the blood of the dozens of gunmen he had pulled down and killed. Klaus searches the faces of each of his siblings, everyone but Diego staring at Ben in varying degrees of shock. Despite having seen similar scenes in their childhood, the look of shock never really went away. They still look disturbed. They look horrified.

Ben turns to look at Klaus and gasps softly, deep in his throat. His face collapses in on itself, and something tugs in Klaus’ chest. He opens his mouth to comfort him, but all that comes out is a sharp, grating sound as his throat works to speak. Ben blinks, staring at him, and then abruptly disappears altogether.

“Hey,” Diego shakes him lightly, and Klaus looks back toward his face. “Talk to me.”

“Hey,” Klaus parrots, his voice rough. He coughs a little bit, which makes Diego pull a face. “Did we win? Do we get to have more waffles?”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Diego says, which, Klaus isn’t sure how he reached that conclusion from what he said.

Allison runs up to them, followed closely by the others. She takes a sharp inhale of breath. “Klaus, your arms.”

“Oh, yeah,” Klaus feels light and distant, kind of like when he’s high on heroin; except not, because underneath it there’s this heaviness, like he could sink down into the earth and stay there. Like he’s two people. Here and there. His knees feel wobbly, and weak. He wonders if Diego is holding him up. “Party a little too hard, you know?”

Allison looks at him, eyes troubled, and he really, _really_ doesn’t get it. He looks around for Ben, but he’s still gone.

He coughs again, just a small clearing of his throat. “Did we win?”

“You should get him back to the house,” Allison says, which is rude. He’s right there. Diego nods, the traitor.

“Someone has to stay behind and talk to the cops,” Five points out. “They’re not going to take kindly to us destroying Main Street without some kind of statement.”

“Again,” Vanya says.

“I’ll stay behind,” Luther raises a hand halfway into the air. He’s got guts on the shoulder of his jacket. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’ll stay, too,” Allison places a hand on Klaus’ shoulder, and he looks down at it. “We’ll meet you back at the house soon. We need to talk about this.”

“Am I getting another intervention?” Klaus asks, and everyone ignores him. “Twelfth time’s the charm.”

“Can you take us back?” Vanya asks Five, but he grits his teeth and shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” Diego slings one of Klaus’ arms over his shoulders and places his other hand on his hip. Klaus doesn’t feel like he needs help to move, but when Diego steps forward, he stumbles. “It’s not far. We can walk.”

They leave Allison and Luther behind, Vanya walking with her hands in her pockets and Five with a slight limp. Klaus frowns, looking behind them for Ben, but he doesn’t see him.

“Did you know you could do that, Klaus?” Vanya asks softly as they round the corner.

“Bring Ben back for a custody visit?” Klaus snorts out a laugh, though he’s frowning. He can’t see Ben at all. “We all knew I could do that.”

“That wasn’t like in the theater, man,” Diego says. “That was more.”

“His powers were feeding off of yours,” Five is ahead of them, speaking without looking back. “You could have died.”

“Nah,” Klaus scoffs. “Ben wouldn’t do that. I had it all under control. Until the last bit there, but who’s counting?”

Diego scoffs. Klaus steps on his foot.

The house quickly comes into view, and Klaus immediately feels a wave of sleepiness wash over him. Maybe he could do with a nap. His foot skids underneath him, and Diego’s grip on his shirt tightens.

“You need to stop it with the near misses,” Diego says gruffly. “And the surprises. It’s starting to get old.”

“Sorry, brother o’ mine,” Klaus smiles up at him, the grin on his face contrasting grotesquely with the dead skin on his arms. “It’s just what I do.”

.

Klaus tells Dave, six months in, that he will never leave him, and that Dave will have to be the first to go. Dave knows everything about him, has taken all of it in stride and only some minor wigging – he knows about the ghosts, and the time travel, and the drugs. Klaus tells him everything, ready to scare him away, but Dave just stays. Talks about the future and going home from the war. Klaus threads his index finger around Dave’s pinky, and tells him that he has to work on staying, because Klaus will never leave him. Dave thinks it’s the most romantic thing he’s ever said. Klaus doesn’t elaborate.

There are so many ghosts that it’s hard to concentrate, and Klaus takes whatever he can find whenever he can find it to drown out the noise. There are American boys with bullets in their chests and their limbs torn off, Vietnamese boys with parts of their faces missing, speaking a language Klaus only knows three or four words of. At home, the drugs help get rid of nearly all of the ghosts, except for Ben. Here, all it does is ebb the shear amount of voices crying at him. It gets rid of a lot, but some are always there. It’s a world steeped in death, soaked through with tormented ends. Klaus hates it. It’s perfect for a person like him.

Usually, the ghosts are more or less helpful in the battlefield. They warn him of ambushes and traps, tell him where they know landmines are buried. Klaus knows he’s saved many lives just by being there, once they listen to him (thinking about how that fucks with the timeline is too much of a headache for him, so he doesn’t). The men don’t know it, but they’re being saved by the ghosts of comrades that have already died.

The issue is that sometimes the ghosts are wrong.

One of the privates that died in a mine blast last week tells him that there’s an ambush up the right side of a fork in the path. Klaus tells Dave, and Dave leads them down the left side instead. They make it 500 yards before it’s clear that there are two ambushes, and that they stepped right into the second. Dave calls for everyone to retreat. The soldiers at the back turn and run. The soldiers at the front open fire.

There are a dozen voices calling his name, and Klaus tries to concentrate on where to look. He knows how to fire a gun, but he’s never been great at it, never liked it at all. He fires blindly into the line of the jungle, wanting it to be over but not particularly wanting to kill. All it does is make more ghosts, and he has enough company.

Someone calls his name again, and it sounds like Dave. Klaus turns his head, concerned, and makes eye contact with Dave across the path just as a bullet flies and hits Klaus’ lower ribs. It tears right through, continuing behind him, and Klaus doesn’t even think to catch himself before he’s on the ground.

There’s a lot of blood. He knows this because Dave launches himself across the path, across the line of fire, and crashes to his knees at Klaus’ side. He wants to yell at him to be careful, but before he can try Dave grabs his arms and pulls him back, dragging his body into the brush. As they move, a trail of red marks where they’ve been. Klaus can’t stop staring at it, until he’s staring at Dave. Dave has his hands around his face, obviously saying something, but Klaus can’t make it out. The cacophony of the bullets is still so loud, and the ghosts are still talking. Still telling him things, asking him for help. Dave lets go of his face and Klaus’ head falls back, thumping against the ground. Dave hovers his hands over Klaus’ abdomen, and then he _pushes_. A sound of pain and a gust of air flies from Klaus’ mouth, and the world begins to fade around him. Dave lets go of him, firing his gun, and then replaces his hands. He shouts, which isn’t safe, and keeps shouting. Klaus wants to tell him to be quiet, but then the sky begins to fade to white, although the trees stay the same.

He opens his eyes and he’s lying in a medic cot, a thin white sheet pulled up just to the top of his legs. There’s a swath of gauze wrapped around his midsection, and Dave is seated in a chair next to him. His hand is wrapped around his wrist, instead of intertwined with his fingers. Klaus turns his head toward him, and Dave looks up. The noise that comes out of his mouth is ragged.

“Klaus,” he says, scooting forward even closer. “God, you scared the death outta me.”

“What happened?” Klaus asks, although he knows the answer. Dave exhales again, breath skipping.

“You got hit,” he tells him simply. “I dragged you out of the fire, tried to stop the bleeding. There weren’t too many of them – it was over quick enough. I – I thought you stopped breathing. I gave you breath, I thought you were gone, but when we got here the medics said that your heart was beatin’, that you’d be alright.”

“I’m alright,” Klaus says, and Dave nods. He nods again, sniffling a bit. He looks around, making sure there’s no one there, and then lets his head fall forward onto Klaus’ shoulder, fingers shifting to hold his hand, instead. “I’m guessing this means I get extra juice and cookies now, huh?”

“Don’t,” Dave murmurs. “Don’t do that again. You promised.”

Klaus raises a shaky hand and cards it through Dave’s hair. He takes a deep breath, staring at the far wall of the medic tent. “I’m not going anywhere. You know what I said – you’ll have to be the first to go.”

Dave coughs out a small laugh, shaking his head into Klaus’ arm. “I’m gonna go and get us out of his hellhole. I’ll go, and you’ll come with me.”

“You’ll be first,” Klaus says. “And I’ll be right after you.”

Four months later, he proves himself right.

.

Klaus was always sure he’d be the first to run away. That was the plan, had been the plan for years – turn eighteen, check the childhood box off of this to-do list called life, sayanara. Despite no one thinking he’s much of a forward thinker, he plans his escape in his head from the day he turns thirteen. He talks about it with Ben in hushed tones, hanging upside down off his bed. He talks about it with Allison, buried under blankets and listening to Alanis Morissette albums. He talks about it with Diego in brief moments, stolen glances and stares in the hallway after Dad chews them out about something, anything.

The plan was he’d leave, and maybe they’d follow him. And if they didn’t, at least they’d be free.

Five’s been gone for years, and everyone but Vanya has accepted that he’s never coming back. So really, Klaus would be the second to go.

Ben dies. Ben _dies_ , and it’s their fault, and suddenly Klaus will be third. His plans fly out the window, the day after he’s gone – because he’s there but he isn’t, and no one can know because they’re sixteen and no one believes a thing he says anymore. He thinks he can convince Diego, maybe, if he tries hard enough, but he works himself up to near tears thinking about it, and Ben places a hand on his arm that passes straight through. Asks him, in his calmest voice, to keep it a secret for a little while.

August 2006, and Vanya leaves for college, a month and a half shy of their eighteenth birthday. No goodbye, no hugs and unpacking and _good luck, sweetie, we’re proud of you_. One day she’s there and the next she’s not.

Klaus doesn’t make it the full month and a half, and he doesn’t act out his plan. Suddenly, it’s a race between him and Diego, an unspoken and unwanted challenge to see who can fuck off first.

They tie, and it’s one hundred percent an accident; on the night Diego sneaks out of the house, bags packed and a place to crash lined up on the other side of the city, Klaus is at a party. It’s a college party, one with frat boys and girls wearing bandanas as shirts. He tries and fails to imagine Vanya at one of these, can only picture her nervously standing in the corner, making polite conversation. The thought makes him laugh out loud, and then want to cry.

He goes home with someone and spends the night at their apartment. He spends four nights, actually, and by then someone else tells him that if he needs a place to crash, a bunch of them have a mattress on the floor of their living room, and they don’t mind if he stays there awhile as log as he shares his weed. Just like that, without plan, without preamble, Klaus simply never goes back.

He overdoses for the first time three months later, laying out in an alley dusted by cold December snow. His vision blends with the brightness of the snow, seconds stretching into years. When he opens his eyes, Ben is standing above him, shouting mean words at him with tears in his eyes. Hands trying, but never touching.

He spends the night in the hospital by himself, because he’s an adult now, and no one comes for him. Because he’s number four, lost somewhere in between.

He’s always been a middle child.

.

Vanya moans as she rises with the sharp knock on her front door. Her whole body is stiff from the exercise of training the day before. Ever since the attack outside Griddy’s, she’s insisted she be taught some more basic self defense beyond the scope of her powers. The rushing wind and confidence that comes with harnessing her powers is fleeting and tied to her emotions. She hasn’t yet been able to make herself as useful as she’d like to be. Diego and Allison have been training with her in the courtyard of the mansion, Luther and Five commenting nearby. In the three weeks since the fight, Klaus has simply been sitting on the grass, pulling it out with his fingers. Every time Allison asks if he wants to participate, he simply shakes his head.

The knock comes again, and Vanya waddles more than walks toward the door. She draws it open, expecting it to be her upstairs neighbor asking for cat food again (she doesn’t have any), but instead it’s Klaus. He’s leaning against the doorframe with a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, even though it’s about nine in the evening.

“Hey,” Vanya greets him, caught off guard. “What’s – what are you doing here?”

“Hey, Vanya,” Klaus drolls. He pushes himself up off of the doorframe and more or less slinks past her into her living room. She stares at him as he goes, slowly closing the door behind her. Klaus sinks into one of her chairs, flinging an arm over his forehead heavily. “Oh, me? I’m not really here for me. No offense, or anything.”

“Okay,” Vanya frowns. “Then, uh, what are you here for?”

“Ben’s been a little shithead recently,” Klaus replies, letting his other arm hang off of the chair and skim the floor. “Feeling all guilty and brooding about the whole horror-show thing. I’m trying to tell him that no one cares, but he keeps getting all moody and fucking off to who-knows-where.”

“Right.” Vanya walks over and sits across from Klaus on the couch, hands folded in her lap. “Why didn’t you bring this up yesterday, at the house?”

“Thought it’d be easier to go one at a time,” Klaus murmurs. “More touchy-feely, fewer voices yelling at me.”

“Sure.”

“So, will you?”

Vanya blinks. “Will I what?”

“Tell Ben he’s being a moody shitheel and that he doesn’t have to feel bad anymore?”

“I mean,” Vanya shifts in her seat. “It’d be easier, I guess, if I could actually talk to him.”

“See?” Klaus gestures into mid-air. “I told you, asshole.”

“Could you, I don’t know, bring him forward again?”

“He’s being a little baby about being corporeal after what –” Klaus flinches, bringing his hand up to his ear for a second, and then lets it drop.

Vanya frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Peaches and cream,” Klaus mutters. He shifts around in the chair, contorting himself into an even more uncomfortable-looking position.

“What’s with the glasses?” Vanya inquires. “Are you –”

“Still tragically sober,” Klaus cuts her off, waving his hand around. “Just have a bit of a headache, is all. There’s this fucking ghost that won’t leave me the hell alone, and he’s withering away at my lifespan.”

“Ben?” Vanya asks, confused, but Klaus shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, but doesn’t add any more detail. Vanya purses her lips, looking down at the floor and then back up again. For all the work they’ve all put in on their communication and sibling-bond or whatever, Vanya still feels uncomfortable around her family. Particularly one-on-one. And somehow, particularly with Klaus, who has never really done anything really wrong to her, but at the same time has never done much right either. He has a way of making her feel like she’s giving and he’s taking. She knows in reality, neither of them are giving much of anything at all.

“So,” Vanya prods softly. “Are you going to bring Ben here? So I can tell him?”

“What?” Klaus asks. “Oh. No, he’s not playing ball. But he’s here, though. So you can tell him.”

“Sure,” Vanya says. Klaus gestures next to her on the couch, and Vanya turns, slightly perturbed by the knowledge that Ben is next to her without being visible. “Uh. You don’t have to feel bad about the fight, Ben. We all know it was an accident, and no one – no one was scared of you.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Klaus groans. “That’s not a very nice thing to say, mister. Besides, my arms are _fine_. They went back to normal like, two hours after it happened.”

“If it helps,” Vanya cuts in, and Klaus looks at her. “Uh. I think a lot of us have to deal with this, but you and me most, maybe. I know what it’s like to be scary. And what it’s like to lose control. You don’t have to feel bad about it forever. Even if it’s scary, you still deserve to be forgiven. And I forgive you.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” Klaus croons. He launches himself up out of the chair, tilting slightly on his feet. “See, I told you it would be worthwhile to come to Vanya first. Everyone else is going to pale in comparison. I think Five might try to experiment on you, or something, so it’s good we got the touchy feely out of the way first. Not the really good kind, of course. More like the mediocre kind.”

“Are you leaving?” Vanya stands up after him. “I mean, uh, you just got here. I could make tea, or something.”

Klaus grins. “Oh, you are just so cute today. Sorry to bail, but we’ve got five other jerkoffs to go grovel at the feet at for forgiveness before the night is done. If we’re out early, maybe we’ll come back. I want some of that cookie dough you have in the fridge. Ben, say bye-bye.”

Klaus waves his hand, waggling his fingers, and makes his way to the door. Vanya stands, watching him. He ducks out the entryway, holding the door out with a flourish, and then closing it softly behind him. She frowns, skimming her hand over the cushion of the couch, and then walks over to the fridge. She pulls out her container of cookie dough, preheating her oven and spooning out portions onto a sheet. She leaves some raw dough in the container and puts it back in the fridge, even though she knows Klaus won’t come back.

.

This fucking crusty old-ass man won’t leave him _alone_.

Luther is taking about something on the other side of the room. Diego replies, and then Five cuts in. It sounds important, but he can’t hear a word they’re saying. He brings his knees up to his chest on the couch, hugging them in with his upper arms and placing his hands over his ears. He opens his eyes and sees Ben on the chair next to him, the heels of his palms digging into his brow. At least they’re both being annoyed out of their skulls.

“Klaus,” the ghost says, sitting opposite his curled-up body. There are other ghosts milling about, but none of them have quite figured out the game like this guy has. Dread pools in his stomach though, because they will. As soon as one of them knows his name, they all learn it. The old man crosses an ankle over his leg, leaning forward. It’s the same ghost from when he and Five were taken – he’s been following him for _weeks_ , and he won’t simply shut the fuck up. “I know you can hear me. These childish games are so tiresome. Don’t you want to hear my proposition?”

Klaus groans under his breath and shakes his head sharply. He tries not to react to all the ghosts in a way that could be interpreted as bat-shit crazy _that_ often, but this guy is really testing his limits.

“I believe it is a good one,” the ghost says. “You’d be best to hear me out, before I become completely incoherent like the rest of these spirits. Your powers were meant for more than this, Klaus. You’re wasting your true potential.”

“Who are you, my dad?” Klaus mumbles. Diego raises an eyebrow at him from across the room. His sunglasses are sliding down on his face, so he pushes them back up with the top of his arm.

“No, but I knew him,” the ghost puts his thumb on his chin, stroking the small gray beard accumulated there. “Of course, that won’t mean much to you. He would have never mentioned me, and your father was quite famous. Many people knew him.”

“God, will you shut up?” Ben snaps, and Klaus chuckles under his breath. Allison begins walking over to him, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. “Listening to the eternal screaming is better than this. Leave him alone.”

“I would have thought that you would enjoy conversing with another coherent spirit,” the ghost turns his gaze to Ben, condescending in his stare. “It must be lonely, with only tortured souls and a reluctant vessel to talk to.”

“We’ve been getting along just fine,” Ben sneers.

Klaus rubs his hands underneath his sunglasses, pressing his fingertips into the pressure points around his eyeballs. His head is pounding. If the fucking ghosts are going to start cat-fighting, he’s going to need a goddamn drink.

Allison places a hand on Klaus’ shoulder, and he jerks a little in surprise. He looks up at her, and she gives him a strained grin.

“You okay?” she asks, and Klaus nods, scrambling so he’s a little more upright.

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” he nods, running his hands over the sleeves of his shirt. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, uh, little headache, you know?”

“You hungover again?” Five calls to him, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Go fuck a Care-Bear, nugget-nards.”

“Guys,” Vanya cuts in, crossing her arms. “I think we had a point, here?”

Jesus, when did all of them show up? Klaus scratches at his jawline. Ben and the old man are going at it again, but he tries to ignore them and turns to listen as Five begins to speak again.

“I did some digging into this organization that’s trying to replicate the time-travel capabilities of the Commission. I have reason to believe that they’re led by a small group of former Commission analysts and assassins that escaped their contracts.”

Diego leans his hip on the bar. “Which means?”

“Which means they’re bad news,” Five explains. “People don’t just break off their contracts with the Commission. Almost no one’s ever done it and lived.”

“You did it,” Vanya points out. Five gestures with his hands, the universal sign for _duh._

“Exactly.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” Allison asks. “It’s not like we can just knock on the Commission’s front door and ask them for help.”

“No, that would be suicide,” Five acknowledges. “I think we can handle these people ourselves. Their attacks have been fewer now, but that might not be a good thing.”

“They could be planning something,” Luther says. “Something big.”

“Astute observation,” Five says snidely. “We have to find the people at the top, take them out. We do that, we get information on what they want, and it all stops. I got the name of one of the leaders. His name’s Richard Worther.”

“Worther,” Klaus echoes, and climbs up so he’s peering over the back of the couch. “Hey, I think I know that name.”

Everyone stares at him. Diego blinks. “You do?”

“Yeah. At least, I think I do. It’s so familiar.”

“Where’d you hear it?” Allison asks.

Klaus frowns, sinking back on his heels. “Uh. Somewhere. I don’t really remember.”

“Helpful as always, Klaus.” Five grimaces at him. Klaus ducks back down behind the couch, laying back against the cushions. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to remember where he’s heard that name before. He’s certain he’s heard it. It settles right out of reach, and his head pounds even more every time he tries to track it down.

Klaus zones out for a minute, trying to focus on anything other than his headache, and only blinks his eyes open when he feels someone standing above him. He’s about to nag at Ben for being creepy and watching him sleep again, but then he realizes the shadow is much, much bigger.

Also, Ben doesn’t have a shadow.

“We’re going to head out, check out that site where we found the machine again,” Luther says, looking down at him, His hands hang awkwardly at his sides, like he’s not quite sure what they’re for when they’re not bashing people. “Uh. You feeling okay? You don’t look so great.”

“Yeah,” Klaus sighs, not moving from his position. “I have this migraine –”

“Why don’t you stay here,” Luther cuts him off. “You know, take it easy.”

Something sinks in Klaus’ chest, but he’s too tired to self-reflect right now. The thought of being left alone with the world’s most annoying old man is torture, but he’s not sure he could be much use at all right now. It sucks enough that Ben still refuses to manifest. “Sure. Don’t party too hard now, kids. Bring me back something pretty. Curfew’s at nine.”

“We’re just going to look around again. We’ll be back soon,” he hears Allison say, and then they’re all walking out, the deafening click of the front door sounding behind them. Klaus sinks back into the pillows, thinking maybe at least he could get a good nap out of today’s abandonment.

It’s quiet for about five seconds before it all starts up again.

“Klaus, I insist that you pay me mind. It took me a long time to find you, you know.”

“A long time,” Ben scoffs. “He’s a fucking ghost magnet. Are you new to this? How long have you been dead, again?”

“Guys,” Klaus moans, turning over onto his side and crunching up into a ball. “Come on.”

“I wasn’t aware that someone who could conjure the dead would have their entourage speak for them,” the ghost spits. “The ghost bodyguard position must pay very well.”

“I’m not his goddamn entourage,” Ben argues. “and I’m not his bodyguard. But every ghost that complains to him, I can hear too, and I’m just about sick of it.”

“It seems to me that the Séance is simply using his power, and you are obeying it.”

“Hey, Klaus, do you think ghost on ghost violence is a thing? I’m willing to test it out.”

“Worther,” Klaus mutters to himself. “I fucking know that name. Worther.”

He pulls himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the wave of nausea that rocks through him. Standing is somehow easier, and then he walks toward the front door, copying the movements his siblings made minutes before. Both Ben and the ghost get up and follow him, still bickering. Really, all the ghosts get up and follow him, but they’re a lot slower, so Klaus isn’t really bothered. He makes sure to close the door behind him and then he stumbles into the driveway, picking the direction that feels like most natural to him.

“Where are we going?” Ben asks, annoyed. Klaus doesn’t know why he gets to be annoyed. Wouldn’t sitting in the living room, endlessly arguing in circles, be worse?

“I know that name,” Klaus repeats. “Richard Worther.”

“The guy that leads this organization,” Ben clarifies. “Where the hell would you have met him before?”

“Who knows? Maybe he sells dope.”

“Klaus,” Ben says, in that horrible patronizing tone of his.

“Klaus,” the old man says.

“Klaus,” the ghosts all say.

“Me!” Klaus throws his hands up in the air. “Jesus Christ on a fucking skewer, can you all be quiet? I’m trying to earn my Scooby Snack, here.”

“Klaus,” the old man says again, because he’s ballsy. “Listen to me. I can help you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure your ghostly knowledge is wise and beyond my years.”

“I knew your father,” the ghost says, and Klaus rolls his eyes. It’s only the twentieth time he’s said it, like he cares. “I’ve been watching you all for a long time. All of your powers could be used for so much more, but you. You’re special, Klaus.”

“Nah,” Klaus dismisses. waving his hand through the air. “I’m just the only loser you can talk to.”

The ghost keeps trying to talk to him, but Klaus ignores him. Ben continues sending him bristling looks. He doesn’t blame him. The ghosts follow him, sure, but none of them have individually stuck around so long or been so insistent. So…chatty. Klaus rubs at his forehead, trying to clear his thoughts. They all keep walking, Klaus simply following his instinct, until they turn the corner and he realizes where his feet have led him.

“Why are we here?” Ben asks, eyeing the cemetery warily. A sinking, cold feeling rushes through Klaus, and he continues walking forward. He passes rows and rows of headstones, making his way to a specific spot. Where it is, he has no idea. But it’s here.

“Because,” Klaus murmurs, and stops. “I know where I’ve seen him.”

In front of him is a weathered gravestone, not newly carved but not older than a few decades. The marks of rain and wind are only just starting to pull at the engraving of the letters, but it’s perfectly legible. The darkness of the night pulls around them, illuminated only by a streetlight twenty feet back.

_Richard Lionel Worther, Jr. 1929-2004._

Klaus swallows. “Do you suppose there’s a Richard Worther, the third?”

“Should we tell the others?” Ben asks.

“Why? There’s nothing new here, no new information. It’s not like I know who this asshole is, or what he wants.” Klaus’ words start to peter out as he looks up beyond the gravestone, to where the old man ghost is staring at him intently. The stare becomes more intense, and something catches in Klaus’ chest. “What he’s trying to…get at.”

“Get at?” the ghost echoes, turning is head in curiosity. “I’m not trying to get at anything, Klaus. I just want you to listen to what I have to say.”

“What?” Ben narrows his eyes in disbelief. “ _You’re_ Worther?”

“Most people usually called me Junior,” the ghost snarls. “But I always hated it.”

“What, so you’re haunting me because your son or whatever is trying to kill my family?” Klaus takes a step back in the grass. “What’s the villain origin story? Dear daddy died and now he wants to rip the fabric of time and space so he can bring you back?”

“I’m sure my son has plenty of reasons for wanting to change time,” Worther says, stepping through his own gravestone. “But bringing me back is most likely not one of them. We had the same goals, but we didn’t often see eye to eye.”

“Cheers to that,” Klaus says. “I’ll buy him a drink.”

“It’s so easy to entrust your children with your legacy,” Worther frowns, his skin pulling down his face. “But they never seem to have the same _vision_. They always messed it up somehow. You should be familiar with that. You always disappointed your father.”

Klaus backs up some more, digging in his pocket for his cell phone. He pulls it out, drops it, and picks it up again. He presses Diego’s name on his contact list, but it just rings, rings. It cuts off, and he looks down at the screen. No reception. Of course, no reception in the _fucking graveyard_.

“The thing about Reginald,” Worther appears right in front of him, and Klaus yelps, staggering backyard and falling on his butt. His head pulses with pain, and he scrambles backward until his back meets a headstone. He holds his forehead with one hand like it’s going to ooze out onto the grass beneath him. “Is that he could never figure out how to tap into your true potential. He was afraid, and I don’t blame him. That kind of power either has to be controlled entirely, or eradicated.”

“Klaus, send me,” Ben says, kneeling beside him. “You can do it, just manifest me and I’ll go to where they are.

“I don’t know,” Klaus mumbles, holding his head. “I don’t think I can.”

“Oh, you can,” Worther sneers, crouching a few feet away. “There’s so many things you could do if you tried. I can help you with that, Klaus. You are meant to control the dead, not be controlled by them.”

“Spare me the lecture,” Klaus grates out, squinting his eyes shut. “I don’t want your fucking help. I want your son to stop trying to kill my family and fuck up time, I want to take a nap, and I want you to go to hell!”

“Klaus,” Ben grabs his shoulder, and it lands. “I’ll get them. I’ll get help.”

Klaus opens his eyes, clenching his fists, and Ben glows blue for a moment before disappearing entirely. Before Klaus can relax, or focus on bringing him back, Worther’s hand comes down onto his chest, pressing him into the headstone. Klaus fumbles, watching his glowing hands illimunate with the blue of Worther’s materialized body. Worther catches Klaus’ hand between the fingers of his other hand, digging into his cheeks.

“Finally,” the ghost growls.

A shock of cold goes through him, and then his body jerks as Worther presses into him, his visage disappearing from in front of his eyes. Klaus opens his mouth to scream, the pain in his head enough to make him feel like he’s about to burst. His limbs move in spastic motions, the back of his skull slamming into the headstone. His neck twists, and he hits his head again, one side of his sunglasses shattering, and then he stills. He makes to stand up, but his body doesn’t move. He makes to speak, but nothing happens. Then he watches, horrified, as his arms come out in front him, turning one way and then the other. He rises like a marionette doll, nearly folding back down into the earth as whatever is controlling his body figures out how to walk again. Klaus’ throat makes a small noise of laughter, and his hands reach to dust off his clothes. He feels like there’s a boulder sitting on his chest, and a vice around his brain. He can’t move, and he can’t breathe. God, he can’t breathe.

“Don’t worry, Klaus,” he hears himself say. The rest of the graveyard is quiet, and echoes in his pain. “Like I said, great power must always be eradicated, or controlled. I’ve always disagreed with my son on that one great choice. I believe that potential shouldn’t be wasted. I choose control.”

Klaus pushes against the weight, keening with effort, but then it doubles in size, triples in weight. All the air is pushed out of him as he is crushed down, folded into a ball of paper and squashed away. His body begins to move toward the entrance of the cemetery, disjointed motions becoming smoother with each practiced step, and the world begins to fade. Klaus tries one last time to move, to speak, before he’s pushed down. Every time he’s died, he’s woken up warm, in the white light of the forest. Now, he’s freezing, like frost is about to form on his skin. When he’s pushed down for the last time, the world he finds is completely dark.

.

The site where the machine was is a complete bust. There’s nothing there but ash and bent nails. Everything that had been worth anything had been stripped away from the ground and taken in their first pass through. The grassy area is barren and dry, and a gust of wind makes Vanya sneeze. Diego resists the urge to say I told you so.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Five grumbles as they make their way back toward town. They’re all crammed into the same car, four regular sized humans and a monster man in the front. Five and Luther had argued about who could sit in the passenger seat until Allison had to enforce _turns_. “I thought maybe I’d missed something, when I was distracted with Klaus. That there’d be clues.”

“We had to double check,” Vanya assures him. “It was the smart thing to do.”

“The smart thing to do would have been not to waste our time,” Diego mutters. “There’s a lot more we can look into, here. I’ll go to the station. Maybe they have some dirt on whoever this Worther prick is.”

Allison scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure they’d _love_ to see you.”

“Who said anyone would be seeing me?”

“Alright, guys,” Luther says. “It’s late, let’s just get home –”

Ben suddenly appears inside the car, halfway on the island and practically between Diego’s legs. Everyone screams, and Allison nearly crashes the car, narrowly missing an oncoming car as she passes over the road lines. She manages to swerve it back into the lane and lets out a sharp breath.

“Ben, what the hell?”

“Hey guys,” Ben says, his face gloomy and disturbed. None of them say anything; it’s probably always like that. “Sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” Luther tries and fails to twist around in his seat to see what’s happening. He hits his elbow on the window and swears. “What’s happening? How? How did this happen?”

“Klaus sent me,” Ben says, and flickers like a lightbulb dimming in power. “He found out who Worther is. I think he’s in trouble.”

“He can do that?”

“Wait. _He_ found out who Worther is?”

“He did say he knew him,” Vanya points out.

“It’s not the real Worther,” Ben informs them, blinking drastically in and out of vision. It’s making Diego nauseous. “The real Worther is this guys’ son – the guy in charge of the group. But his dad is dead, he’s a ghost, and he’s been talking to Klaus.”

“What, like a social hour?” Diego asks, trying to shift his legs. “They having tea and catching up?”

“No, I –” Ben disappears for several seconds before coming back. “This guy knew Dad; he’s saying some weird shit. Klaus needs help.”

“Where is he?” Allison asks, eyes ahead on the road. “Did he leave the house?”

Ben’s materialization shifts and cracks before them, and he frowns. He opens his mouth to say something, but then the visage shatters entirely, leaving them all in the dark cab of the car.

“Well,” Five frowns. “That was one for the books.”

Diego pushes his legs together and leans forward on the middle seat. “Allison, you might want to speed up a little.”

Ben doesn’t appear back in the car on the rest of the ride home. It’s not a far drive, not even twenty minutes, but by the time they pull into the driveway, Diego is clamoring over Five to get out. Five pushes back at him, swearing and pressing his palm into Diego’s face, until he jumps out of the back, leaving the pathway clear. They all rush toward the house, Diego leading the way. Allison watches as he pushes open the front doors, running through the atrium, only to come to a slow stop as he turns into the living area.

“Klaus?” he asks, as the rest of them skid to a stop behind him. They walk into the room, where Klaus is just standing, a book in his hand and a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. The lens of one side of his sunglasses is cracked in a spiderweb of lines, the dichotomy slightly offsetting on his face. “What are you doing?”

“Me?” Klaus asks, pulling the candy from his mouth. “That was a fast trip, huh? Find anything good?”

“Nothing at all,” Five says, suspicion clear in his tone. “Klaus, is Ben here?”

“Nah,” Klaus says. He puts the lollipop back in his mouth and speaks around it. “He hasn’t come back.”

“It’s just,” Allison steps forward, breaking the invisible line they’d all drawn between them. She walks up to Klaus, looking him over. “He showed up in our car, said that you’d…projected him, or something. Said you needed help.”

“Oh,” Klaus smiles. “Yeah, I did. I went down for a walk in the graveyard, you know, good old times. Thought I found something important, so I sent Ben to let you know, but I don’t think it turned out to be anything.”

“How’d you break your glasses?” Diego asks, furrowing his brow.

“Stepped on them,” Klaus replies with a pout. “Sucks, too. These are my favorite glasses.”

“They’re mine,” Allison deadpans.

“Like I _said_.”

“What, so Worther wasn’t there?” Luther presses. “Ben said something about his son.”

“Worther was there all right, he just didn’t have much to say,” Klaus shrugs. “Richard Worther’s definitely his son though. Third in the trilogy. They’ve all got the same name, and everything.”

Five comes forward. “What exactly did he say to you?”

Klaus groans. “Ugh, it was all the same old thing. _Why am I dead? Who killed me? You have to help me, please, oh please._ At least this one wasn’t all bloody and gross. Well. Not _that_ bloody and gross.”

“That’s it?” Vanya frowns. “He just wanted to know how he died?”

“Most ghosts are in it for the vengeance game, really,” Klaus says, and then tilts his head to the side, grinning. “You know, he actually did say something pretty useful, come to think of it.”

He pauses, and Diego’s hand twitches. “Would you like to share with the class?”

“Shut it, I’m just remembering. There’s a warehouse on the other side of town that old man Worther used to operate out of. I think it’s the same place they took me and Five. Maybe the family business is still going strong.”

“You know where this place is?” Luther asks.

“I do,” Five says. “I jumped us out of there when it happened. If it’s the same place, I know where it is.”

“And you didn’t think to go there first?” Allison raises an eyebrow.

“It was on my to-do list,” Five grumbles. “When we were there it looked like more of a front than anything. It’s entirely possible they have a hidden operation there too.”

“Great!” Klaus throws his hand in the air, sending the book flying backwards. “Let’s go!”

“Now?” Vanya asks.

“What happened to you having a migraine?” Allison crosses her arms.

“What can I say, the fresh air really does me wonders,” Klaus walks toward the door, a swing in his hips. “I mean. The place you guys looked didn’t pan out, right? So we should really give it one more go before we call it a night.”

“He’s right,” Luther agrees, and then frowns. “If we’re going to eliminate this threat, we need to go now.”

“And here I was thinking we’d go out for milkshakes again,” Diego quips.

“I can jump us there,” Five says. “It’s only on the other side of town, and I haven’t jumped much all day.”

“Ugh, I hate the jumping,” Allison whines, but they all gather to hold on to each others’ limbs. “It always makes me wanna throw up.”

“You get used to it,” Five smiles, and then transports them without warning.

They all land in the dark on the cold concrete of the warehouse floor, a couple of them stumbling as they get their balance back underneath them. The building is pitch black, the only light streaming in from the moon through a few large windows on one side. It’s completely silent, save for the sounds of their feet scuffling on the floor. Allison bumps into Luther’s shoulder, and Klaus nearly steps on Vanya’s toes.

“Would it have killed one of you to be born with the power of lighting up a room?” Five snaps, shoving Diego away from him.

Klaus laughs. It starts out low and sensible, and then builds to a drawn-out cackle that echoes across the massive room. Everyone stills and stares at him. Even in the dark, they can see the silhouette of his body hunched over, arms wrapped around his midsection as he barks out laughter.

“Klaus?” Diego says, hesitant and confused. “You alright there, buddy?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Luther chuckles a little himself, mostly uncomfortably. “It really wasn’t all that funny.”

“No, it was!” Klaus insists. His voice has raised nearly an octave, making his words sound slightly hysterical. A shiver runs along Allison’s arms, causing goosebumps to spring. It’s cold in the warehouse. Very cold, considering it’s early summer outside. “You don’t get it, no, it was…it was _very_ funny. Oh. Light up a room. That got me. You’re right, though. Why don’t we turn on some lights?”

Before any of them can interject or even move, the entire warehouse alights. It’s so sudden that most of them throw their hands over their eyes, lowering them when the shock subsides. They all blink for a moment, eyes darting from blue figure to blue figure filling the space. It doesn’t sink in for a good few seconds, until their gazes land on Klaus’ smiling face.

“Holy shit,” Diego whispers.

The ghosts line the walls of the warehouse, taking over nearly all available space, every square foot of flooring. They’re all standing stock still, looking directly at Klaus. There are more ghosts than they can even process, more than they’ve ever heard about, more than they ever knew Klaus could see. Vanya looks to her side and gasps, hand flying over her mouth with a curse. The woman next to her is missing an arm, the socket gushing out blood that she will never run out of. Beyond her is a man with the entirety of his guts spilling out onto the floor. Luther makes a gagging sound in the back of his throat.

“It’s funny, almost,” Klaus says, shrugging his shoulders. “How easy it is. Guess that’s what happens when you stop being afraid. Can you imagine that – running away from your own power? Not taking advantage of it when it’s just _right there_?”

“Klaus,” Diego says lowly, taking a step forward. “What are you doing?”

“I guess it’s easy for us to be afraid, though,” Klaus muses, taking a step back with his arms wide. His grin is wide on his face, a Cheshire Cat smile. “When it’s all we can see. Hear. Touch. _Smell._ It would just be easier if he could accept that the ghosts are a part of him. They _are_ him.”

Five growls. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Allison blinks, taking a half-step forward. Klaus smiles at her, itching absently at the crook of his elbow. She stares at him, the way he moves, and dread pools in her stomach. “Where’s Klaus?”

Luther does a double take, from Klaus to Allison and back again. Diego’s hand clenches by his side, and Five’s face deepens into a more severe frown.

“What do you mean, where’s Klaus?” Luther asks, voice low and serious.

“Oh, you’re so clever, aren’t you?” Klaus teases, half of his upper lip curling in a snarl. “Always poking around, pulling out the truth. Too bad.”

“Too bad, what?” Luther asks.

Klaus drops the grin, settling into a vindictive smirk. He barks out another laugh. “Too late.”

The mass of ghosts all turns to look at them, heads snapping to the side in unison. Luther takes a step backward, swearing under his breath. Five squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his fists, and then stops, looking at his hands. He does it again, and then swears.

“I can’t jump,” Five announces. Klaus brings his own arms up, clenching his fists, and blue light pours brightly out of them. The ghosts all step forward, closing them in toward each other. One reaches forward to grab Allison’s jacket, and she kicks at it, surprised as it stumbles to its knees before getting up again. “How many machines do these assholes have?”

“Klaus, it’s time to cut it out!” Diego calls.

“Don’t you fucking get it?” Allison hisses. “That’s not Klaus.”

Klaus laughs again, and Diego squirms as a ghost reaches for his hair.

“Aw, come on, guys,” Klaus says, voice light-hearted and playful. “I just thought I’d show you a little show. A piece of my world, you know? What happened to having _fun_ together?”

Vanya bristles as she bumps up against Luther, trying to get away from the advancing spirits. She pushes her hands out, shoving a line of ghosts away with a blast of air. Klaus looks up at the balcony of the warehouse and snaps his fingers. There’s movement of ghosts up above them, and a shrill, distant screeching fills the space. They all grab their ears, but Vanya screams, nearly buckling down to one knee. Diego grabs at her arm.

“What, what is it?”

“The noise,” Vanya grits her teeth. “I – I can’t.”

Five turns and faces Klaus, ducking under Luther’s arm. “What do you want, Worther?”

Klaus regards him, his tongue poking out a bit from in between his teeth. “You know, that’s just the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

“Why don’t you make it snappy,” Five taunts. “We don’t have time for games.”

“Do you think this is a game? That your brother is a game?” Klaus steps forwards, his movements not disjointed but somehow off, somehow wrong. “You’re all idiots, and assholes. Some great powers in this world need to be controlled, and some destroyed. Reginald failed to do either. This power?”

Klaus raises his hands and the ghosts move faster, swarming them and getting in between them as they shout. Luther throws several into the distance, but more replace them. He swings his arm to punch a line of them, but they phase in and out of existence, reappearing as Luther swings and jumping onto him. Their nails claw at his skin, and Luther goes down as dozens pile on top of him. Allison shouts his name but is ripped away from the group by four ghosts, pulling at her arms and her hair. She sees Diego stabbing at some, but they just keep moving, unaltered by his actions. Five stands over Vanya, trying to shelter her, but the ghosts tear them apart, shredding their shirts and blooming rivulets of blood.

“This power was _meant_ to be controlled,” Klaus beams. “Yours, on the other hand, are simply too volatile, or too useless. I’m sure my son can find use for some of you. The rest of you…well, you know.”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” Diego roars. “But you get the fuck out of him, right now!”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Klaus whimpers. “I think I’m gonna wet myself. Big, bad Diego.”

The ghost holding Diego’s arm behind his back twists it sharply, and Diego lets out a coarse shout as his shoulder pops out of its socket. Luther erupts up from the sea of ghosts surrounding him, but quickly crashes down to his knees again. His skin is littered with bleeding rakes and scratches, one cut dribbling blood down over his left eye. It shines in the glow of the ghosts and the moonlight.

“I know more about you than you know about yourselves,” Klaus spits. “What you can do, and what you’ll never even hope to touch.”

“Great,” Vanya coughs. “Another person who thinks they’ve gone to therapy for us.”

“You did write that damn book,” Diego grunts.

“Where’s Ben, Worther?” Five asks, breaking the flow. “You get rid of him, too?”

Suddenly, the whole scene cracks and shifts – the ghosts disappear from view for a single second, all of them falling down onto the hard floor, before they reappear again in a pulse of light. Klaus’ face is screwed up in anger.

“Ben was unnecessary,” he seethes. His fists glow with extra focus, the skin on his arms turning to waste and creeping up toward his torso. The dead skin spreads up his neck toward the underside of his chin, skin shriveling and veins protruding. With each passing second. Klaus’ body looks more like one of the ghosts that surrounds them. “I have no use for something that will only waste my power.”

“It’s not your power, asshole!” Diego shouts.

The ghosts flicker again, and Klaus’ face screws up in pain. Allison looks up from where she’s pinned to the floor, one of the ghosts prying her head up by her hair.

“Klaus?” she calls, biting back pain as one of the ghosts rakes their hand down the back of her calf, leaving jagged scratches. “Klaus, it’s okay. We’re here. We’re here and he’s not you, okay?”

“What the fuck kind of condolence is that?” Klaus growls, but his face is twitching. Allison’s face is pressed down into the concrete floor. It feels like all the warmth has been sucked from the room, replaced with the frigid presence of the dead. God, it’s so cold.

“He’s not you,” Allison whispers. Behind her, Vanya shrieks in pain, and Diego is panting out breaths like the ghosts are trying to pull him apart clean down the middle. “He’s not you.”

“You’re right,” Klaus says, frowning. “I’m _everyone_.”

“I’m sorry,” Allison squeezes her eyes shut, taking a breath. “ _I heard a rumor you_ – _”_

The ghost straddling her _plunges_ its hand down into the musculature of her back, and Allison screams.

“Allison!” Luther yells.

There’s the sound of doors slamming behind them, out past the entry to the room, but none of them can turn to look. The ghosts are all screaming, wailing, crying as they swarm them, breaking and re-materializing as Klaus’ hands clench and unclench.

“Your stupid games aren’t going to work on me,” Klaus seethes. “This is a whole other universe. We have our own rules, our own laws.”

“God, you really are just like Klaus,” Five jeers, blood flowing from a cut on his cheek. “You never _shut up_.”

The ghosts flicker again, Klaus’ face screwed up in confusion and frustration. Diego takes advantage of the moment and tears away from the ghosts holding him, dodging the reaching hands and sprinting straight at where Klaus stands. Klaus’ look of confusion turns into a cruel snarl, and the ghosts snap back in place just as Diego lunges at him. They catch Diego in midair and turn, flinging his body onto the ground behind Klaus.

“ _Enough_ ,” Klaus shouts, the noise echoing and astray. “I created this technology. I created this initiative, and they’re being defeated by _you_. I don’t take opportunity for granted. I’m going to get my revenge.”

The ghosts surge once more, this time picking them up and holding them vertically against them. Allison squeals as one wraps its hand around her chest, positioning its hand directly over her heart. The gray pallor of Klaus’ skin has spread like disease up around one half of his face, chapped and ragged. One eye is a dull color, nearly milky white, while the other is still stark green.

“Klaus,” Allison breathes. She stares at his face, searching for any trace of her brother. She looks, willing him to make eye contact with her, and then he does. Their eyes lock, and Klaus grits his teeth.

Klaus doubles over, limbs spasming as he coughs. The ghosts shatter like television static, blinking in and out as Klaus garbles out sounds through a clenched jaw.

“Go back to hell, dickweed,” Klaus moans. His back bends dramatically, hands shaking, for several more seconds. Allison watches as his body twists grotesquely before suddenly stilling entirely. Like someone flipped off a switch, the ghosts all suddenly disappear. The warehouse is dark, and empty, the only sounds their tattered breaths.

“Klaus?” Vanya rasps. Luther rises and stumbles toward Allison, crashing back down on his knees and putting a hand on her back. She hisses with the pressure and he shifts, cupping her shoulder instead.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Are you?” she replies, not taking her eyes off of Klaus.

Klaus lets out a ragged laugh, thumping at his chest with his fist. “Christ on a cracker, what is it with the vengeance kick? I get that everyone hates us, but _geez_. How many times do I have to say no touchy before they get the memo?”

Five takes a step forward, ready to hesitantly interrogate their brother, but then the lights of the warehouse flood on again – this time the iridescent floor lights, and not the otherworldly blue glow from the ghosts.

He looks up as several armed men rush onto the floor and up on the balcony, their guns trained on each of them. The same group of men that had attacked them on the street, their numbers replenished with more alive recuits.

Five sighs heavily. “Fantastic.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Everyone stay where you are!” One of the guys shouts. Diego stands shakily behind Klaus, hands trembling by his sides. “Stay still, and no one gets hurt!”

Allison scoffs under her breath. “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Can you guys give us a minute?” Klaus asks, voice worn thin and daydreamy. “We’re kind of in the middle of a family crisis, here.”

“Where were you guys five minutes ago?” Luther sneers.

“Jesus Christ, shut up!” The guy in charge shouts. “Hands in the goddamn air!”

The men on the floor of the warehouse surround them in a circle, each of them getting their own special guard with a gun pointed at their heads. The one behind Diego pushes him forward with the heel of his gun; Diego’s eyes are locked on the ground, hands up but shaking. Allison bends her neck, trying to catch his eye, but he doesn’t look at her.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the man in charge says, waving his gun around at all of them. “You’re all going to get down on your knees. We’re gonna take you all downstairs, and one by one we’re going to figure out how to shut off your powers before we kill you.”

“Way to broadcast your plan,” Luther mumbles under his breath. Allison huffs out a laugh through her nose.

“What?” Klaus raises his hands in the air, so that both of his tattoos are showing. “Wait – do you think we’re the Umbrella Academy? Seriously? We don’t have _powers_. We’re just squatting.”

Five groans out loud. All the men with guns look at one another.

“Is he kidding?” One of the men whispers. “Like, does he think we’re stupid?”

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“Klaus,” Five grits out. “Where’s Worther?”

“Worther,” Klaus echoes, eyes locking with his. “I sent that bastard out of my skin. Overstayed his reservation. About time, I was getting itchy.”

“Alright, everyone down on your knees!” the guy shouts. “Right now!”

“But Klaus,” Five hisses. “Where _is_ he?”

Klaus blinks. A guard forces Vanya down to the floor, pressing a button that makes the ringing even louder. She throws her hands over her ears, keening, and Allison shouts for them to leave her alone as she’s forced down to the ground as well. Klaus blinks again, and then frowns.

“I don’t know.”

Everything escalates very quickly, as though all at once. The guard behind Diego pushes him with his gun again, ordering him to get down, and Diego explodes in movement. His arm flies up and behind him, smashing the guard in the face. He disarms the guard and kicks him to the floor, turning and running toward Klaus again. Five elbows his guard in the balls and ducks his blow, grabbing his gun and knocking him over. Five begins running in the same direction, sending a spray of bullets toward the line of men as he sprints. Klaus looks at Five in front of him, and then lowers his eyes toward where Allison is kneeling on the ground. Their eyes meet, but then Allison looks at Diego, just as he raises his head. Just as his hair exposes his eyes, which are coated in a milky white.

“ _Diego_!” she screams, pulling against the guard’s hold. It’s too late. Even Five isn’t fast enough – Diego runs up to Klaus, skidding to a stop. Klaus barely has time to turn to face him before Diego’s hands come up on either side of Klaus’ head, grasp on tightly, and –

– snap his neck.

Five slams into Diego not even a second afterwards, sending all three of them crashing to the ground. More men begin firing their guns, someone else yelling at them to stop. Allison screams. She screams once with all of her breath, pauses, and then screams again.

Luther picks up one of the guards and throws him into a line of them on the floor, and then does so again with another man, sending him up onto the balcony where more men are standing, confused as to whether to fire their guns or not. They decide on yes and start firing at Luther. He catches a few bullets on his back before turning to rip out a support beam and use it like a gigantic baseball bat.

Vanya somehow makes it over to Allison, covering her with her tiny body. She starts pulling at Allison’s arm to get her to move, but Allison can’t figure out how. She can’t stop staring at Klaus, lying on the floor with his neck askew, eyes still obscured by the broken sunglasses. She knows he’s not breathing. Five is pummeling Diego with his fists, straddling him on the ground, before Diego kicks out and flips them both over. They roll over one another toward where Allison and Vanya are crouched on the ground, away from Klaus. There are fewer men shooting at them, Luther having beaten most of them and the others retreating away with a shout from their commander and the wake of the chaos. Beyond them, the echoes of siren lights are beginning to dance and reflect off of the windows, the sound beginning to reach Allison’s ears.

Distantly, she wishes the lights would turn back off. Diego punches Five in the mouth, sending a spray of his blood to the floor. She doesn’t want to see.

“Do you like my new trick?” Diego snarls, lashing out at Five again. He unsheathes one of his knives and swings at him, causing Five to leap backwards. “I haven’t quite figured out his power, yet, but don’t worry. I will.”

“Picked the wrong brother, asshat,” Five jeers. “Diego’s not exactly full of surprises.”

“Oh, well,” Diego grabs Five by the front of the shirt, and then shifts so that his hand is wrapped around his throat. He raises Five in the air as he kicks, unable to jump out of the position. The look on Diego’s face is vindictive, marred by cruelty. “Nothing will be quite as good as the Séance, but I’ll have to do. One down, five to go. I want the complete set.”

Allison struggles to her feet, intent on reaching Diego before he can harm Five, but Vanya makes a choked noise in the back of her throat. Allison follows her frozen gaze and freezes, watching as Klaus’ body begins to move on the concrete floor. His neck rolls, making a horrible crunching sound as it slides back into place, and he rises into a sitting position. He supports himself on his arm until he bends his knees underneath him, practically falling upwards. He stares at the back of Diego’s head, not catching Allison and Vanya’s horrified gazes.

Klaus walks the few short steps up to Diego and places his hands on either side of his head, just like Diego had done moments before. Five stares, face red and gasping, as Diego tenses, and then drops him to the ground.

Diego makes a gagging noise in the back of his throat, trying to turn around to face Klaus but failing. Klaus’ skin is still haggard and gray, and his hands glow from where they’re latched onto Diego’s head.

Klaus smiles.

“You know, I think the Séance was a bad name for me, in retrospect.” Klaus bends his head to the side, and his neck lets out a loud crack in release. “They should have called me the Cockroach.”

Klaus furrows his brows in concentration, pressing in on Diego’s head. The expression etched on Klaus’ face turns from determination, to intent, to blood-boiling anger, and he lets out a low growl as he begins to shake with effort. Blue light begins to illuminate under the skin of Diego’s face, until it releases from him in a blast of light and a shout of pain. They all cover their eyes for a second, and when they bring their arms back down, Diego is on his knees, holding his head in his hands.

Klaus looks at all of them and frowns. “What? It was a bad joke, wasn’t it? Too on the nose?”

“What the fuck,” Luther steps over to them, bleeding and weary. “Was that. What the fuck just happened?”

“Klaus got possessed,” Five deadpans, his voice strained and scratchy. “And then the ghost possessed Diego. And Klaus got rid of the ghost.”

“Thanks for the recap,” Vanya says, voice small and distant.

“That was awful,” Diego moans. “God. I feel fucking violated.”

“Eh,” Klaus waves his hand in dismissal. “You see one egotistical abusive dead millionaire, you’ve seen them all.”

“I’m sorry,” Allison interjects, her voice shaking. “Can we go back to the part where Diego _killed_ you?”

“I’d also like to stop there,” Vanya says. “On the part where you were dead.”

“God,” Diego presses his forehead into the ground, his breath trembling as he exhales. “F-Fuh. _Fuck_.”

Klaus tries to take a step forward, but his knees buckle underneath him. Both Allison and Vanya move forward to help, but can only watch as Klaus falls down, landing on his butt. They all stare at each other for a few long seconds, sirens ringing through the air. Diego makes a keening sound, slamming his fist into the floor. Klaus rubs a hand through his hair, finally taking off his sunglasses and letting them drop out of his hand. He lets out a shaky laugh, but he can’t fake it anymore. It comes out more like a sob.

.

“Have you always known?” Vanya asks softly, once they’re back at the mansion. Cold Mexican takeout sits in front of them, no one having reached for their tacos. Diego sits with his arm in a sling, using his other hand to clean out the wound on Allison’s back. He stares intently at the skin there, eyes occasionally flicking up toward the rest of them as though to check that they’re still there.

Klaus takes a long and loud slurp of his soda. “Define always.”

“Did Dad know?” Allison asks, and Klaus frowns. He doesn’t answer.

“So, what?” Luther leans over, resting his arm on his knee. “You’re immortal, or something?”

“I don’t think it’s so much a can’t issue,” Klaus shrugs. “It’s like. Everyone has a way they’re supposed to die, and I just keep coming up with crazy, cooky new ways to get it wrong.”

“What you’re saying is,” Diego swallows. “Everyone has a way they’re meant to die. Even when they’re murdered?”

“Yeah,” Klaus shrugs. “Although some people get pretty pissy about it. Can’t always blame them. That’s when they’re ghosts.”

Vanya sighs out a long breath. “There were so many of them. The ghosts, I mean. I had no idea.”

“There’s not always that many,” Klaus admits, voice small. “I can call them all, but I don’t. But it’s okay – there’s still always some there, I mean. But. I’m never lonely.”

There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence, and Diego is about to apologize for killing Klaus for the thirteenth time in the hour when Five blinks back in front of them in a burst of light.

“Good news,” He smiles sardonically, which doesn’t look great with the black eye stretching across his face. “Worther the third and all his goonies were arrested, what with all of the evidence of illegal activity and the fact that they hid in the basement like morons. I spoke with a member of the Commission; they’re going to lock up all their time travel tech so no one else can get their grubby hands on it. It seems they’re willing to cooperate with us for the time being, in exchange for the gear.”

“You think you can trust them?” Luther asks.

“I think it’s our best option.” Five sits beside Vanya, peering at Klaus. “So. When we were in the basement of that warehouse. You drowned.”

“ _What_?” Allison chokes out, making herself cough. Diego taps her on the back.

“How many times have you died, exactly?” Vanya looks like she might be sick.

“Come _on_ ,” Klaus sets his drink down. “Lighten up, it’s not a big deal.”

Allison makes a noise of disbelief. “Not a big deal?”

“So what, a little whoopsie here, a little car crash there,” Klaus leans back in his chair. “Ben says it’s nothing to worry about.”

Five smirks. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I hate our lives,” Diego mutters. “Actually, I hate _your_ life.”

“It’s not all bad!” Klaus perks up again, straightening out his shirt. “Come on, now that it’s all out in the open I can regale you with my many adventures. You _have_ to hear about the time I was sky high with a dozen pageant queens in Cabo –”

Everyone groans.

.

The forest comes into view in its blinding flash of light, sliding into focus quicker now. Every time, it comes a little quicker, and leaves just the same. Today, She’s standing for him, hands loosely pooled in the back pockets of Her jeans. Sometimes, She has Her bike, while sometimes She sits with Her head leaned back against a tree. Arms crossed, arms by Her side, in Her hair in exasperation. She always has the same look of vague displeasure on Her face – a face that matches the heavy hanging of the forest, despite the air feeling spacious and light as he takes his first inhale.

Some days he walks down the path with Her, chatting about things he’ll never remember. Some days he questions Her or argues the fairness of it all. Today, he doesn’t rise from where he’s lying. He simply turns his head. She shakes her head softly, the ghost of what could be a smile on Her lips. He turns his head back and closes his eyes.

It’s not his time yet. He’s starting to think it may never be.

.

**Author's Note:**

> I've done a lot of thinking on who was close to who when they were kids, okay? I've combed through the evidence of both the show and my own heart - it's obvious that Klaus is closest to Allison, Ben, and Diego, but relationships with siblings change. I like to think that Allison and Klaus used to be close (see the scene in S1 when they're all forced to get their tattoos), and of course Klaus and Ben are closer as teens, especially after his death. BUT it's pretty explicit in the show that Five, Vanya, and Ben were close, while Luther, Allison, and Diego had their own friendship/rivalry, which left Klaus, quite literally, in the middle.
> 
> Anyway, I have a lot of thoughts.
> 
> let me know what you think! thanks for stopping by, you can hang out with me on tumblr @themostexcellentfinder!
> 
> Will probably write more TUA fic at some point. Maybe something Ben-centric, or more Klaus. Who's to say.


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